:-,';';."  ••''•'.'.'. "".'•'•   v         •'. 


988 


7"** 


A   ROMANCE  OF   DIJON 


AT    ALL    THE     LIBRARIES. 


THE  CURB  OF  HONOUR.    By  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
THE  LAST  TOUCHES.     By  Mrs.  W.  K.  CLIFFORD. 
JOHN  DARKER.    By  AUBREY  LEE. 
POSTE  RESTANTE.    By  C.  Y.  HARGREAVES. 
PAUL  ROMER.    By  C.  Y.  HARGREAVES. 

MARGARET    DRUMMOND,   MILLIONAIRE.      By  SOPHIE 
F.  F.  VEITCH. 

THE  GREAT  CHIN  EPISODE.    By  PAUL  CUSHING. 

CAP  AND  GOWN  COMEDY.    By  ASCOTT  R.  HOPE. 

UNDER  TWO  SKIES.     By  E.  W.  HORNUNG. 

A  TANGLED  WEB.    By  LADY  LINDSAY. 

THE  PHILOSOPHER'S  WINDOW.    By  LADY  LINDSAY. 

BORN  IN  EXILE.    By  GEORGE  GISSING. 


A 


M.    BETHAM-EDWARDS 

AUTHOR  OF 
"  THE  CURB  OF  HONOUR  "  ETC. 


NEW    YORK:    MACMILLAN    AND    CO. 

LONDON:   ADAM   AND   CHARLES    BLACK 

1894 

All  rights  reserved 


CON  TENTS 


CHAP.  PACK 

I.    '  THE   DAWN   IS  THERE  !  '                          .                .                .  7 

II.    THE  SORROW  THAT   UNSEXES  .  .  -    .      .        l8 

III.  THE   FRAGRANCE  OF  THE   VINE            ...  30 

IV.  THE   BEGINNING  OF  THE   END                ...  42 
V.    THE   BEAUTIFUL   MERCER                          ...  53 

VI.    THE   MUSTER    ......  69 

VII.    THE   PASSING  OF  THE   DEPUTIES  80 

VIII.    A   MAIDEN   WOOER        .....  91 

IX.    CURE,   SEIGNEUR,    AND   PROLETAIRE  .                .                .  IO2 

X.    MARQUIS  AND   MILLINER          .                .                .  Il8 

XI.    THE   TEMPTATION          .....  134 

XII.    THE  CARNIVAL  OF  THE   CAHIERS        .                .                .  144 

XIII.  UNDER  THE   ELMS   OF  SULLY                  .                .                .  155 

XIV.  'NOT  A   BAUBLE  FOR   MOTHER  COUNTRY?'  .                .  l68 

xv.  'THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  .     .  181 
xvi.  'THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  ...     .191 

XVII.    THE  COMEDY  OF   REVOLUTION              ...                .  2O2 

XVIII.    RED,    WHITE,   AND   BLUE!        ....  213 

xix.  PERNELLE'S  VIGIL       .....  223 

XX.    THE   BEACON   FIRES      .....  233 

XXI.    SERIO-COMIC      .                .                .                .                .                .  244 

XXII.    IDYLLIC               ......  255 


2229073 


CONTENTS 


CHAP.  PAGE 

XXIII.  IN   QUIET   PLACES          ......  264 

XXIV.  SALE   UNDER  THE   DEAD    HAND             .                .                .  275 
XXV.    '  THE   DEAD   HAND '      .                .                .                .                .  286 

XXVI.    LOVE  AND   REVOLUTION            ....  296 

xxvii.  'JE  N'EN  AVAIS  NUL  DROIT'            .            .           .  305 

XXVIII.    PRACTICAL   HEROISM   .  .  .  .  -313 

XXIX.    THE  COST  OF  REVOLUTION     ....  323 

XXX.    LOVER   AND   LEDGER    .....  332 

XXXI.    LOVE      .......  341 

XXXII.    THE  STRUGGLE  .  .  .  .  -351 

XXXIII.   — AND   STRUGGLE          .....  359 

XXXIV.    'AUX  ARMES,    AUX   ARMES,   CITOYENS  !  '         .                .  368 

XXXV.    THE  TOCSIN      .                .                .                .                                 .  378 


A    ROMANCE    OF   DIJON 

CHAPTER  I 

'  THE    DAWN    IS    THERE  !  ' 

As  yet  day  halted  on  the  threshold  of  the 
beautiful  wine  country ;  pencilled  in  grey  the 
twin  eminences  over  against  its  capital.  Like 
yet  different  are  those  nodding  hamlets, 
Fontaine,  birthplace  of  St.  Bernard,  Talant, 
historic  also,  each  crowned  by  church,  chateau, 
and  clustering  cottages  ;  at  their  feet,  the  proud 
city  of  Charles  the  Bold  ;  beyond,  rising  with 
gentle  curve,  the  Golden  Hills  vineyards 
famous  throughout  Christendom.  In  the  lumin- 
ous eastern  belt  of  starry  twilight,  Dijon  had 
almost  an  ethereal  look,  as  if  a  brisk  wind  might 
disperse  that  picture  in  cloudland,  slate-coloured 
silhouette  against  a  gradually  clearing  sky. 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


Lofty  cathedral  spire,  slightly  bent  as  if  in 
perpetual  adoration,  as  lofty  Ducal  Tower 
with  its  graceful  balustrade,  many  a  dome, 
cupola,  and  pinnacle,  church  and  palace, 
gloomy  donjon  and  city  gates,  showed  above 
the  cincture  of  ramparts,  all  faintly  outlined 
on  a  neutral  ground.  Who  that  had  never 
beheld  a  sunrising  here  could  divine  the  trans- 
formation at  hand  ? 

Pervading  silence  matched  the  shadowy 
scene.  The  fair  spring  world  was  wrapt  in 
trance-like  sleep. 

Only  in  one  poor  home  of  the  twin  hamlet 
looking  west  had  burned  a  feeble  light  through 
the  dark  hours,  last  beam  to  greet  dying 
eyes.  The  kitchen  of  this  wretched  tenement 
was  windowless,  the  opening  to  admit  light 
and  air  being  closed  by  a  rudely  constructed 
shutter.  Bed-chamber  there  was  none ;  and 
in  the  farther  corner  of  the  kitchen,  not  too 
softly  pillowed,  lay  an  ancient  woman,  by  her 
side  a  pair  of  assiduous  watchers. 

So  weather-beaten,  shrivelled,  and  burdened 
with  the  weight  of  years  was  the  grandame, 
that  she  must  have  been  hideous  but  for  a 
certain  look— dignity  were  hardly  the  name, 


THE  DAWN  IS  THERE! 


nor  resignation,  nor  the  placidity  of  despair. 
Still  less  could  her  expression  pass  solely  for 
the  vindictiveness  occasioned  by  personal 
wrong.  Mildness,  submissiveness  she  lacked  ; 
tone  of  voice,  glance,  pose,  betokened  a  nature 
strong  alike  for  good  or  evil,  vigorous  by  force 
both  of  passion  and  intellect,  consciousness  of 
strength  proving  a  staff  on  which  to  lean,  a 
gospel  of  her  own.  The  pair  keeping  watch 
suggested  no  less  individuality.  Strikingly 
contrasted  to  each  other,  not  in  the  least 
resembling  their  charge,  poor  circumstance, 
isolation,  pity,  rather  than  kinship,  surely 
linked  the  three. 

Seated  on  a  rough  bench  by  the  wall,  alertly 
rising  to  aid  his  companion  in  her  ministra- 
tions, his  gaze  following  every  movement  of 
the  dying  woman,  was  a  man  whose  age  de- 
fied guesswork.  With  complexion  sear  and 
puckered  as  a  walnut  peeled  many  days,  with 
limbs  supple  and  wiry  as  those  of  a  mounte- 
bank, he  might  have  belonged  to  the  ebbing  or 
present  generation.  Hardship,  exposure,  a  life 
of  hazard,  had  perhaps  aged  him  before  his 
time ;  phenomenal  powers  of  endurance,  un- 
tamable spirit,  kept  him  young.  He  was  short 


10  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

of  stature,  thin  to  attenuation,  and  his  small, 
brilliant  eyes  wore  the  cunning,  catch-me-if- 
you-can  expression  of  a  preying  and  preyed- 
on  animal. 

The  girl  so  anxiously  bending  over  the  poor 
pallet  showed  the  same  undaunted  look,  and 
she  also  evidently  enjoyed  secret  consolations. 
Her  elders  could  take  refuge  in  the  thought 
that  neither  suffering  nor  injustice  had  power 
to  crush  ;  the  light  that  came  and  went  into 
this  young  face  betokened  solace  of  a  different 
kind.  The  two  might  rejoice  in  the  conviction 
of  indomitable  will ;  their  companion  owed  self- 
control  to  other  sources.  And  just  as  such 
assurance  irradiated  her  sorrowful  features,  did 
her  childlike  beauty  spiritualise  and  embellish 
the  sordid  place. 

'  The  peasant's  wife,  but  the  seigneur's  bride,' 
murmured  the  dying  woman,  her  voice  strangely 
clear  and  vigorous. 

'  Again,  for  the  second  or  third  time,  those 
words ! '  whispered  the  girl,  turning  to  her 
fellow-watcher,  evidently  for  an  interpretation. 

Instead  of  replying,  he  rose,  and  placed  a 
cheap  metal  crucifix  in  the  large,  toil-worn, 
bony  hands  of  the  grandame.  Without 


'  THE  DA  WN  IS  THERE !'  11 

attempting    to    grasp    it,     she    repeated    the 
sentence— 

'  The  peasant's  wife,  but  the  seigneur's 
bride.' 

'  Come,  Huguette,'  the  man  said  soothingly, 
'  have  done  with  peasants  and  seigneurs.  'Twill 
be  all  one  on  the  other  side  of  the  grave ' ;  and 
once  more  he  closed  her  fingers  about  the 
symbol.  She  let  it  go. 

'The  priest  was  here  yesterday,'  she  cried 
impatiently.  '  Would  you  have  him  fetched 
a  second  time  ?  Godchild,  godchild,  are  you 
by?' 

For  answer  the  girl  bent  lower,  tenderly- 
kissing  the  wrinkled  forehead. 

'  I  cannot  see  you,  darling,  but  I  know 
your  voice,  and  my  thoughts  are  clear.  Do 
not  interrupt  me,  either  of  you.  I  have 
something  to  say.' 

The  pair  obeyed  :  Fortune — Renard,  as  the 
cunning  fellow  was  generally  called — not  with- 
out uneasiness  ;  Fe'licite — with  her  also  baptism 
had  apparently  played  a  cruel  freak — or  Fin- 
ette  to  her  neighbours,  lovingly  submissive. 

Aided  by  both,  the  gaunt  figure,  in  coarse, 
homespun  bedgown,  now  sat  up  ;  the  final 


12  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

flicker  of  life  burning  brightly,  lending  inde- 
scribable pathos,  even  a  touch  of  grandeur,  to 
the  scene. 

All  the  fierce  passion  and  ungovernable 
temper  of  the  Huguette  of  old  were  revived 
with  even  deeper  intensity.  A  glow  almost 
superhuman  in  its  radiance  lighted  up  the 
strongly  -  marked,  time  -  worn  features.  She 
seemed  to  be  gazing  on  things  invisible  to  her 
watchers.  The  face  was  no  longer  that  of  a 
peasant  woman,  but  a  prophetess. 

'  You  did  not  guess  it,'  she  began,  her  voice 
gaining  in  volume  and  piercingness  as  she 
went  on.  'Whilst  I  lay  here  still  as  a  babe, 
I  have  had  visions  —  not  heavenly  ones,  but 
earthly '  —  A  grim  smile  played  on  her  lips, 
threadlike  in  their  thinness.  'Was  it  likely  I 
should  dream  of  saints  and  angels  on  my 
dying  bed  '- 

'  Huguette,  Huguette,'  cried  Fortune,  cross- 
ing himself,  'remember  that  you  are  a 
Christian.' 

'  The  shrift  father  was  here  yesterday,  he 
would  not  forbid  me  to  declare  my  dreams,  I 
know/  the  old  woman  went  on  impatiently, 
even  fretfully;  'and  as  I  lay  here,  drowsing, 


'THE  DAWN  IS  THERE!'  13 

perhaps  you  thought,  the  past  came  back,  the 
eighty  and  odd  years  I  can  remember,  of  hunger 
and  nakedness,  toil  and  privation.  Childhood, 
youth,  love,  these  were  only  words  to  the 
peasant.  Existence  for  the  like  of  us  meant 
endurance ' — 

She  broke  off,  and  a  terrible  expression  for 
a  moment  replaced  the  sibylline  solemnity  that 
had  gone  before. 

'  The  peasant's  wife,  but  the  seigneur's 
bride.  Do  you  hear,  godchild,  do  you  under- 
stand ? ' 

'  Good  mother,  invoke  the  Blessed  Virgin, 
lift  your  thoughts  heavenward,'  ejaculated 
Fortune".  The  girl  meantime  had  turned  away 
her  face  as  if  unable  to  endure  that  fearful 
glance. 

'  He  will  tell  you,  I  have  no  time.  Re- 
member what  I  say,  FortuneV  He  bowed 
his  head  unwillingly,  acquiescingly.  The 
gesture  seemed  to  satisfy  her.  She  went 
on— 

'  Godchild,  if  I  have  been  at  times  a  fury, 
cursing  and  doing  harsh,  bitter  things,  reveng- 
ing my  wrongs,  Fortun^  will  let  you  know 
how ' — 


14  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


The  last  sentence  changed  the  man's  look 
altogether;  his  little  eyes  sparkled,  he  rubbed 
his  hands  with  a  low  chuckling  laugh. 

1  Did  I  make  myself,  did  I  make  those 
whose  bond-servant  and  chattel  I  was,  haughty 
women,  bad  men,  to  whom  I  and  mine  were 
mere  clods  ?  But  listen  :  as  I  said  just  now,  I 
have  had  visions,  I  see  into  the  future.  Hold 
me  well  up,  Fortune".  Godchild,  a  drink — I 
feel  my  strength  going.' 

Rising  from  her  seat,  groping  her  way  to 
an  outhouse,  the  girl  fetched  a  carefully  con- 
cealed flagon  of  wine,  her  companion  pouring 
a  copious  draught  down  the  sick  woman's 
throat,  then  slyly  putting  the  neck  to  his  own 
lips. 

4  Quick,  my  girl,  back  to  its  place,'  he 
whispered,  'and  cross  yourself  when  the  good 
soul  talks  of  visions.' 

Huguette  revived;  she  now  went  on  in  a 
clear,  penetrating  voice— 

'  I  have  been  a  hard  woman,  neither  weeping 
for  spouse  nor  sons  stricken  down  in  their 
prime.  Why  should  I  ?  The  world  was  an 
evil  place.  Better  at  rest  underground.  But 
I  was  not  like  a  poor  dumb  beast,  unable  to 


'  THE  DA  WN  IS  THERE  ! '  15 

look  ahead  or  reason,  and  I  had  strange 
thoughts — I  felt  sure  that  even  the  like  of  me 
might  be  happy.' 

Renard  pointed  upward  significantly. 

'  No,  no,  my  man ;  I  am  speaking  of  the  soil 
we  tread  on,  the  air  we  breathe  here.  Hear 
me  out.  I  beheld  just  now,  I  behold  it  still, 
another  kind  of  world,  in  which  men  and 
women  toil,  wed,  become  fathers  and  mothers, 
without  cursing.' 

'  Huguette,  leave  curses  alone  ;  pray  to  your 
patron  saint,'  broke  in  Renard,  aghast.  Finette 
pulled  his  sleeve  gently.  Tears  were  stream- 
ing down  her  cheeks.  She  caught  every 
syllable  with  breathless  eagerness. 

'  A  change,  an  awful  change  is  at  hand.  I 
feel  it,  I  know  it.  Oh,  ye  hated  ones,  the 
oppressors  that  have  despoiled  us  and  hunted 
us  down,  the  tyrants  to  whom  poor  men's  blood 
was  as  water,  poor  women's  honour  as  nought, 
tremble,  find  a  hiding  -  place  where  you  can, 
seek  compassion  of  your  victims !  A  wave  of 
horror  and  darkness  will  soon  sweep  over  the 
land  —  no  such  eclipse  was  ever  seen.  The 
very  name  of  France  will  affright  all  humanity 
as  one  man.  But  for  a  time  only ' — 


16  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


She  raised  her  hand  towards  the  east,  and 
got  out,  now  in  feeble  tones  and  intermittent 
gasp- 

'  Night  broods  over  us,  but  the  dawn  is  there. 
The  neighbours  have  ever  looked  askance  at 
poor  Huguette ;  to  some  I  was  little  better  than 
a  witch,  because  I  had  strange  thoughts  and 
pondered  on  many  things.  Even  those  who 
sweated  with  me  in  the  harvest-field,  even  the 
women  who  knew  what  child-bearing  is  to  the 
poor,  held  aloof.  All  my  life  I  have  been 
alone.  Those  thoughts  I  speak  of  kept  me 
company.  Live  to  be  very  old,  Fortune"  ;  my 
little  Finette,  do  not  quail  at  thoughts  of  wife- 
hood,  motherhood.  Horror  and  darkness,  I 
say,  are  upon  the  land ;  but  following  after, 
days  such  as  the  like  of  us  have  never 
seen.  Heaven  has  not  forgotten  the  peasant. 
It  is  night  with  him  now,  the  dawn  is 
there.' 

She  sank  back  on  her  straw  pillows,  unable 
any  longer  to  articulate  clearly.  The  listeners 
put  down  their  heads,  and  once  more  caught 
the  words — 

'  The  dawn  is  there ! ' 

True  enough,  with  the  silence  of  death  licrht 


'  THE  DA  WN  IS  THERE  !'  17 

gradually  stole  over  the  chamber.  For  a  little 
while,  motionless  as  the  marble-like  figure  on 
the  bed,  knelt  the  two  watchers,  a  ray  of  sun- 
shine recalling  them  to  neighbourly  duty  and 
Christian  ministration. 


CHAPTER  II 

THE   SORROW   THAT    UNSEXES 

THERE  is  a  sorrow,  an  isolation,  that  unsexes, 
annuls  conventional  standards,  draws  human 
beings  together,  as  imminent  peril  or  appalling 
calamity. 

Huguette's  neighbours  were  not  wanting 
in  kindly  feeling,  but  her  imperiousness,  her 
strangeness,  had  alienated  one  after  the  other. 
Thus  it  came  about  that,  except  for  Renard, 
who  was  everybody's  friend — even  the  provi- 
dence of  vagabonds  and  criminals — and  for  this 
young  girl,  foster-child  of  former  days,  she  was 
abandoned  at  the  last. 

Lovingly,  solemnly,  reverentially,  the  little 
old  wizen-faced  man,  aided  by  Finette,  per- 
formed the  last  offices.  Father  and  daughter 
thus  brought  together  in  dire  extremity  could 
not  have  showed  a  completer  absence  of  self- 
consciousness.  Renard,  indeed,  hardly  pos- 


18 


THE  SORROW  THAT  UNSEXES  19 


sessed  the  kind  of  personality  that  at  times 
embarrasses  the  more  fortunate.  Hazards, 
rough  usage,  keen  bodily  suffering,  and  a 
hunted  down  life,  had  rendered  him  abnormal. 
He  was  a  human  being  still,  neither  devoid  of 
moral  qualities  nor  ethic  standards.  Just  as 
lifelong  incarceration  will  turn  men  into 
automata,  so  privation  and  a  habit  of  endur- 
ance had  dulled  his  susceptibilities.  With 
the  deftness  of  a  woman  he  now  arranged 
the  skeleton-like  form  on  the  pallet,  Finette 
mechanically  obeying  his  behests. 

During  the  sad  ceremonial  not  a  word  was 
said,  but  when  their  task  had  come  to  an  end, 
he  patted  her  tear-wet  cheek  and  thrust  a 
rosary  into  her  passive  hands. 

'  Come,  come,  my  maid,'  he  said  cheerily ; 
'  is  she  not  better  off  above  with  our  Holy 
Mother  and  the  saints  ?  Leave  off  crying  and 
tell  your  beads,  whilst  I  attend  to  my  carpenter- 
ing yonder.'  He  pointed  to  the  little  woodshed 
outside,  then  lingered,  casting  a  final  glance 
at  the  death-chamber,  evidently  to  his  mind 
seemly  and  creditable.  'We  have  done  our 
best  for  you,  my  poor  Huguette/  he  murmured, 
addressing  the  dead  woman.  '  A  light  burning 


20  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

under  the  image  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  a 
crucifix  between  your  fingers,  your  garments 
whole  and  white — could  a  seigneur's  lady  want 


more  : 


Finette  soon  heard  the  tapping  of  his 
hammer  as  he  put  together  the  rude  semblance 
of  a  coffin,  cold  grey  dawn  meantime  merging 
into  rosy  golden  day. 

Hesitatingly,  almost  apologetically,  she  laid 
down  the  beads  and  moved  towards  the  door. 
The  sweet  breath  of  morning  refreshed  and 
soothed,  but,  as  she  gazed  on  the  gradually 
gilded,  brightened  scene,  it  was  with  an  absent, 
preoccupied  look.  The  wondrous  transforma- 
tion affected  her  only  as  it  recalled  her  god- 
mother's words.  Were  the  neighbours  indeed 
right?  Had  Huguette  really  possessed  the 
gift  of  second  sight  ?  Would  the  day  she 
spoke  of  ever  dawn  ?  Yet  to  believe  other- 
wise seemed  irreligious,  paganish,  unbecoming 
an  intelligent,  conscientious  being.  There 
must  be  another  and  juster  world  in  store  for 
those  unborn,  as  well  as  those  at  rest  in  the 
grave !  Suffering  was  surely  not  the  pre- 
ordained condition  of  mortal  kind  ?  Huguette's 
lot  had  been  exceptionally  hard,  Fortune's  also  ; 


TUT.  SORROW  THAT  UNSEXES  21 


her  own,  young  as  she  was,  had  meant  so  far 
renunciation  only.  The  things  she  clung  to 
and  loved  dearer  than  life  itself,  all  these  she 
must  keep  secret,  give  up.  Would  joy,  exist- 
ence worthy  the  name,  ever  remain  a  sealed 
book  to  many,  a  privilege  of  the  few  ? 

Fortune  broke  in  upon  her  reverie. 

'  Of  what  good  all  the  moping  in  the  world  ? ' 
he  cried  impatiently,  and,  fetching  the  discarded 
chaplet,  flung  it  across  her  arms.  'Tell  your 
beads,  I  say.'  With  a  sharp,  almost  fierce 
glance  he  added,  '  Unless  the  townsfolk  have 
made  a  Huguenot  of  you  ?  ' 

'  Fortune" ! '  the  girl  exclaimed,  not  deprecat- 
ingly,  voice  and  uplifted  hands  rather  expressed 
consternated  inquiry.  He  misunderstood  both 
word  and  action. 

'  Well,  well,'  he  replied  kindly,  '  no  offence. 
But,  like  the  rest  of  the  people  who  live  yonder' 
—here  he  pointed  to  the  city  just  half  a  league 
off — 'or,  indeed,  in  any  town,  you  don't  think 
of  the  Virgin  and  saints  as  often  as  you  might. 
And  there  are  plenty  of  heretics  to  lead  astray 
the  unwary.' 

Finette  moved  a  step  forward,  so  that  he 
could  not  see  her  face.  For  a  moment  she  stood 


22  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

still,  battling  with  tears  ;  then,  mastering  herself 
by  an  effort,  taking  refuge  in  abrupt  change  of 
subject,  she  said — 

'  I  have  been  pondering  on  my  godmother's 
words.  Do  you  believe  in  them  ?  Were 
the  neighbours  right  when  they  called  her 
a  prophetess  ? ' 

'  A  witch,  you  mean,'  he  replied,  crossing 
himself.  'May  God  forgive  her!  No,  my 
good  girl,  let  us  leave  these  things  alone. 
Don't  meddle  with  what  is  beyond  us.  But 
if  you  ask  me  point  blank  whether  I  believe 
there  will  always  be  poor  devils  like  myself, 
beaten  one  day,  branded  the  next,  now  thrown 
into  a  dungeon  with  reptiles  and  vermin,  now 
tortured  within  an  inch  of  my  life,  perpetually 
ill-used  as  the  saints  and  martyrs  of  old— 
and  why  ?  Because,  like  a  wild  beast,  I 
seek  a  morsel  of  food  where  I  can  get  it  ;— 
well,  if  you  put  such  a  question  to  me,  I  am 
puzzled.' 

'  You  poor  Renard ! '  said  the  girl  pityingly. 

'  Look  you,  I  don't  say  that  Heaven  is  unjust, 
I  only  say  that  I  don't  understand  its  ways. 
Were  I  stripped  for  burial  like  the  good  wife 
there,  the  very  stones  would  melt  to  pity. 


THE  SORROW  THAT  UN8SXE8  23 

Not  an  inch  of  this  poor  body  of  mine  but 
is  scarred  and  seamed  with  bruises,  blows, 
manacles,  branding  irons,  and  the  like' — 

'Could  you  not  gain  a  livelihood  in  a  safer, 
better  way  ?'  asked  Finette. 

'  The  poor  just  light  on  their  feet  as  four- 
footed  creatures,  and  do  as  their  fathers  and 
grandfathers  did  before  them.  Smuggler, 
poacher,  I  was  born ;  smuggler,  poacher,  I 
shall  die.  But  a  better  Christian  never  wore 
out  shoe-leather.' 

'  True,  true,'  murmured  the  girl  absently. 

'And  up  there,'  he  went  on,  pointing  to  the 
ceiling,  '  will  St.  Peter  and  the  rest  despise  me 
for  not  having  a  skin  like  satin  and  a  body 
whole  and  smooth  as  a  fine  gentleman's  ?  Not 
they.' 

He  whistled  gaily.  Then  his  mood  suddenly 
changed  to  almost  savage  vindictiveness ;  he 
shook  his  fist  at  some  invisible  enemy,  and, 
dropping  his  voice,  added — 

'  There  are  times,  Finette — may  the  Holy 
Mother  forgive  me ! — when  1  feel  that  I  would 
rather  have  a  bout  down  below — I  name  no 
names — with  certain  personages,  than  dwell  in 
Abraham's  bosom.  Well,  who  knows  ?  One 


24  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

thing  is  clear,  I  must  get  on  with  my  coffin- 
making.' 

He  left  her,  stepping  back  to  glance  inquir- 
ingly at  the  pale,  dreaming  face.  Something 
Finette  had  to  say,  but  lacked  courage.  Him, 
too,  her  looks  followed,  and  slowly,  timidly,  her 
steps  also. 

'  Fortune,'  she  whispered,  '  I  could  not  put 
the  question  to  you  indoors — near  her,  you 
understand.  Those  strange  words  of  my  god- 
mother's '  -  -  she  shuddered  as  she  got  them 
out — '  "  The  peasant's  wife,  but  the  seigneur's 
bride" — what  might  they  mean  ?' 

Her  listener  did  not  refuse  to  answer,  or 
evade,  as  must  have  been  the  case  under 
happier  circumstances.  Outcast,  vagabond, 
pariah  although  he  was,  Fortune*  yet  recognised 
the  claims  of  youth  and  innocence.  Girlhood 
after  the  manner  of  Finette's  affected  him  as 
the  sight  of  some  rare  and  exquisite  flower 
from  far-off,  mysterious  shores,  no  more  to  be 
rudely  handled  than  rose  on  the  altar  of  Mary. 
With  women  of  a  wholly  different  stamp  he  no 
more  stood  on  ceremony  than  the  coarsest. 
By  virtue  of  a  certain  indescribable  trusting- 
ness  and  candour,  the  confidence  of  a  child 


THE  SORROW  THAT  UNSEXES  25 

combined  with  the  sympathy  of  a  higher, 
wholly  superior  order  of  beings,  the  eighteen- 
year-old  maiden  held  him  under  a  spell. 

But  there  is  a  sorrow  that  unsexes,  a  wretched- 
ness of  circumstance  that  breaks  down  barriers 
of  custom  and  tradition.  Whilst  he  spoke  out, 
putting  into  plain  words  fearful  deeds,  it  was 
with  an  entire  absence  of  the  familiarity  that 
would  have  made  plain  speaking  an  insult. 
Finette  could  listen  without  shame,  he  could 
speak  without  apology,  because  she  had  asked 
the  truth,  and  he  felt  that  it  was  her  due. 

'  Remember  Huguette's  years — and  history. 
Bad  as  the  world  is  now  in  some  respects,  it  is 
better  than  it  was  eighty-five  years  ago  ;  and 
much  as  the  peasant  has  to  complain  of  in  these 
parts,  they  are  not  so  badly  off  as  elsewhere— 
in  the  country  she  came  from.  Hearken,  then 
—only  first  let  me  light  a  few  sticks  on  the 
hearth  and  boil  the  soup.  I  don't  know  how 
you  feel,  but  I  am  as  empty  as  a  frozen-out 
wolf.' 

Handier  than  most  housewives,  he  now  put 
together  some  chips,  plied  his  tinder-box,  filled 
an  iron  pot  with  milk  and  water,  sprinkled  in  a 
little  buckwheat  flour,  added  a  bit  of  bacon  fat 


26  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

and  a  pinch  of  salt ;  then,  triumphantly  hanging 
the  vessel  over  the  blaze,  returned  to  Finette. 

*Our  soup  will  be  ready  in  a  quarter  of  an 
hour,'  he  said,  with  brightened  face.  '  After 
breakfast  you  had  better  run  to  the  curd's. 
Meantime,  about  Huguette.' 

He  took  up  his  hammer,  neatly  and  very 
economically  fitting  the  odd  pieces  of  board 
together. 

'  Eighty-five  years,  I  say,  is  a  long  time,  and, 
wicked  as  the  world  is  now,  it  was  perhaps  less 
ashamed  of  its  wickedness  then.  In  Huguette's 
country  —  she  came,  as  you  know,  from  the 
mountains  yonder'  (here  he  pointed  over  his 
shoulder),  *  from  the  Velay — the  seigneurs  were 
little  kings,  oppressing  the  country  people, 
sucking  the  very  life-blood  out  of  them,  im- 
prisoning, torturing,  hanging  as  they  pleased. 
And  if  he  escaped  with  his  neck,  what  with 
taxes  and  dues  in  kind,  a  poor  wretch  might 
toil  and  moil  from  morning  till  night,  he  died 
no  better  off  than  he  was  born.  But,  Finette, 
we  see  that  sort  of  thing  nowadays.  A  peasant 
gets"  together  a  few  gold  pieces  and  buys  a 
vineyard  or  a  field — all  the  profit  goes  to  the 
chateau,  the  king,  and  the  church.  Now  listen, 


THE  8ORRf)fT  THAT  UNSSXES  27 

and  hear  how  much  worse  things  were  once. 
There  was  a  time  when  seigneurs  had  other 
rights.  His  vassals  might  many  with  leave. 
They  had  to  get  that,  of  course ;  and  something 
more  was  necessary.  A  poor  man  must  pay 
for  the  privilege  of  taking  his  partner  home. 
Until  he  paid  what  his  lord  chose  to  demand, 
unless  he  paid,  in  spite  of  priestly  blessing  and 
wedding  ring,  as  Huguette  said,  the  peasant's 
wife  was  the  seigneur's  bride.  You  under- 
stand ? ' 

Her  sorrowful,  shocked  expression  answered 
him.  He  added — 

'Such  things  happened  long  before  Huguette's 
time,  but  she  knew  they  were  true.  From  mouth 
to  mouth,  from  generation  to  generation,  the 
story  had  been  handed  down  in  her  own  family, 
of  a  certain  Huguette,  maybe  her  grandame's 
grandame,  thus  scorned  and  trampled  upon. 
It  rankled  in  her  mind,  it  made  her  harsh  and 
bitter,  she  loved  nobody.' 

'  She  was  ever  good  and  kind  to  me/  Finette 
replied,  with  a  sorrowful,  almost  a  despairing 
look.  The  world  seemed  to  have  grown  so 
much  sadder! 

'  Humph ! '   her    companion   exclaimed   con- 


28  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

temptuously ;  '  I  have  known  even  a  she-wolf 
suckle  a  stray.  Neither  you  nor  yours  had  ever 
harmed  her.  Ah,  Huguette,  Huguette!  had 
you  only  possessed  a  little  learning,  been  able 
to  read  and  write,  get  books,  pens,  and  paper, 
you  would  have  taught  the  wisest  something, 
I'll  warrant.  Now,  take  off  the  pot  and  get 
out  the  bread,  my  child,  for  my  stomach,  the 
poor  man's  clock,  tells  me  it  is  breakfast 
time.' 

She  obeyed,  but  so  slowly  and  absently,  that 
he  threw  down  his  tools,  and,  good-naturedly 
impatient,  dished  up  the  meal  himself.  Seated 
on  the  doorstep,  each  provided  with  a  wooden 
spoon,  they  shared  the  same  bowl,  after  country 
fashion,  Fortune"  briskly  cutting  huge  slices 
from  a  loaf  of  hard  rye-bread  by  his  side. 

'  You  are  not  hungry  ? '  he  asked,  smacking 
his  own  lips,  amazed  at  her  indifference  to  the 
plenteous  and,  to  his  mind,  appetising  fare. 
'Come,  try  again.  I  won't  say  that  I  could 
not  empty  the  dish,  but  I  would  rather  see  a 
little  colour  in  those  white  cheeks  of  vours.' 

J 

To  please  him,  Finette  dipped  her  spoon  a 
second,  a  third  time  into  the  steaming  mess, 
and  swallowed  one  or  two  morsels  of  bread. 


THE  SORROW  THAT  UNMXES  29 

'  I  will  run  to  the  sacristan's  now  ;  you  finish 
my  share,'  she  added,  smiling  faintly. 

'  Finette ! ' 

Looking  back,  she  saw  him  make  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  reminder  of  forgotten  duty.  Waving 
her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  apology,  not  repair- 
ing the  omission,  the  light  iigure  disappeared 
among  the  vines. 

Fortune,  watching  her,  shook  his  head  and 
muttered  to  himself— 

4  If  one  could  do  these  little  things  for 
another !  but  no.  And  all  is  not  as  it  should 
be  with  that  garl ;  I  smell  mischief 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    FRAGRANCE    OF    THE    VINE 

THE  sun  was  now  well  above  the  horizon,  and, 
still  dwelling  on  her  godmother's  words,  Finette 
paused  to  gaze.  It  was  not  the  fairness  and 
growing  splendour  around  that  impressed  her 
now — she  had  witnessed  many  a  sunrising  here 
before — but  the  dawn  and  the  transformation 
it  worked  among  familiar  things  struck  her 
from  a  new  point  of  view. 

Bright  and  beautiful  was  the  panorama  so 
lately  outlined  in  silvery  grey  ;  the  broad  belt  of 
vineyard  below  was  mantled  with  gold,  warm 
amber  light  played  upon  the  city  walls,  every 
cupola  and  spire  glittered  against  the  rosy 
sky. 

Far  away  the  proud  eminence  of  Mont 
Afrique,  outpost  of  the  Golden  Hills,  had 
caught  the  glow,  and,  farther  still,  light  vapoury 
clouds,  rolling  off  one  by  one,  showed  those 


THE  FEAGEANCE  OF  THE  VINE  31 

matchless   vineyards,   crowning   pride   of   Bur- 
gundy, crowning  joy  of  the  world. 

Not  less  radiant  was  the  picture  immediately 
under  her  eyes. 

These  twin  heights  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
capital  possessed  artificial  as  well  as  natural 
likeness.  Furthering  the  work  of  nature, 
architect  and  mason  seemed  to  have  kept  up 
this  similitude  of  set  purpose.  The  churches 
crowning  each  hill  were  built  on  the  same  plan, 
with  spire  surmounting  square  tower;  above 
sloping  green  and  rich  foliage  spread  brown- 
roofed,  white -walled  hamlets.  Just  now  of 
emerald  brilliance  showed  the  vineyards  be- 
low, of  freshest  newly-bud  green  the  walnut 
and  acacia  leaves,  glistening  white  the  little 
group  of  buildings  on  either  summit,  tiny 
acropolis  of  miniature  kingdom.  The  vastness 
and  magnificence  of  the  city  beyond — its  glorious 
Ducal  Tower,  the  cathedral  spire,  just  perceptibly 
curved  as  if  in  adoration,  the  exquisite  little 
spire  of  St.  Philibert,  and  massive  towers  of  St. 
Jean  and  cupolas  of  St.  Michel — but  beautified 
these  twin  townlings  by  virtue  of  contrast.  The 
pair  seemed  to  stand  back  modestly,  pages  of 
honour  in  attendance  upon  sceptred  monarch. 


32  ,4  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

An  hour  ago,  mused  Finette,  all  was  shrouded 
in  darkness,  not  a  feature  of  the  glorious  scene 
she  now  gazed  upon  to  be  distinguished  from 
the  rest.  The  dawn  changed  everything. 
Would  her  godmother's  words  come  true ; 
dawn  of  other  and  more  miraculous  kind 
change  the  tearful,  care-laden  world  to  one 
of  smilingness  and  joy  ?  For  a  brief  space  the 
thought  held  her  captive.  She  lost  sight  of 
Huguette's  tragedy ;  she  clung  to  the  consola- 
tion of  a  prophetic  gift.  Oh,  if  indeed  it  might 
be  so !  if  those  who  suffered  more  than  others 
could  discern  things  hidden  to  the  rest,  read  the 
future  as  a  book  ! 

Appreciation  of  natural  beauty  is  one  of  the 
portions  of  the  richly  dowered.  Finette  could 
enjoy  the  soft  breath  of  early  summer,  the 
morning  beam,  but  not  realise  them  after  the 
manner  of  the  more  fortunate.  Aspects  that 
appealed  to  her  must  have  something  to  do 
with  personal  comfort  or  alleviation  of  hardship. 
Such  witchery  of  hour  and  season  had  only 
half  a  meaning.  She  contrasted  this  sunny 
day  with  December,  thought  shiveringly  of  icy 
blasts  and  task  in  blinding  snow. 

The  village  was  but  half  awake,  the  presby- 


THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  THE  VINE  33 

tery  close  shuttered.  Quitting  her  high  vantage- 
ground,  she  strolled  downwards.  Between  the 
summit  and  road  below,  the  broken  ground 
made  several  stages  or  platforms,  appropriated 
by  the  village  folks  for  use  or  pleasure.  Here, 
under  the  hanging  foliage  of  walnut  and  acacia, 
they  kept  their  flocks  of  geese,  gossiped,  and 
danced.  The  straggling  hamlet  showed  neither 
abject  poverty  nor  wealth.  The  poorer  houses 
were  mud-built ;  the  better  kind,  of  brick, 
thatched,  brown-tiled,  with  clustering  vine  and 
bit  of  garden.  Below  lay  a  large  pond,  in  which 
all  washed  their  clothes.  Finette  struck  into  a 
side  path,  soon  losing  herself  amid  the  vines. 

Hitherto  the  sight  of  a  vineyard  had  recalled 
toil  only,  weary  hours  spent  under  windy 
heavens  or  burning  sun.  For  the  first  time, 
she  felt  conscious  of  other  influences,  of  balm 
and  soothing  she  could  not  explain. 

Lingering  thus,  drawing  deep  breaths  of 
the  perfume-laden  air,  she  heard  a  voice  call 
her  name. 

Could  she  believe  her  senses  ?  Laurent 
there  ?  Not  a  soul  near,  the  day  hardly  an 
hour  old,  nothing  to  hinder  brief  confidences  ! 

A  young  man  in  the  dress  of  a  city  apprentice, 
3 


34  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

with  a  pale,  careworn  face,  joy  lighting  up  his 
features  at  sight  of  her,  now  sprang  forward. 
On  his  shoulder  he  bore  a  bale  of  heavy  iron 
goods,  which  rattled  as  they  touched  the 
ground. 

'  You  were  going  to  see  me  ?  But  Pernelle, 
does  she  know  ?  You  are  running  no  risks  ? ' 
Finette  cried,  feminine  protectiveness,  anxiety 
for  his  safety,  outweighing  every  other  senti- 
ment. 

Before  replying,  before  even  touching  her 
cheek  with  his  lips,  he  wiped  his  brow. 

'  I  have  been  sent  on  an  errand  to  yonder 
village,  and  by  starting  a  little  earlier,  got 
time  to  see  you.  No  fear  of  poor  bedridden 
Huguette  blabbing.' 

'  Huguette  is  dead,'  Finette  broke  in,  sud- 
denly ashamed  of  her  joyousness,  feeling  that 
she  ought  to  think,  speak  of  nothing  else. 

'Huguette  is  dead?'  repeated  Laurent,  he 
too  reproaching  himself  for  his  apparent  in- 
difference. 

Feverishly  impatient  to  relate  what  had 
happened,  Finette  yet  held  her  peace.  She 
could  be  silent  out  of  respect  to  Huguette's 
memory.  She  could  not  dwell  even  on  her 


THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  THE  VINE  35 

godmother's    strange    words  just    now.       Her 
lover's  presence  was  uppermost. 

Uncovering  his  head,  Laurent  bent  low  and 
murmured  a  short  prayer,  the  girl  whispered 

Amen,    then    they    felt    free    to    talk    of    each 
other. 

'  Let  us  go  quickly  down  the  hill,  otherwise, 
with  these  nails  to  carry,  I  shall  be  late,'  he 
said  ;  '  and  I  have  something  to  say  that  won't 
keep.' 

With  one  hand  in  his,  overhead  the  warm 
blue  sky,  around  them  the  waxen  green  vines, 
their  flowers -shedding  fragrance,  how  could  she 
forecast  evil  news  ? 

'  Something  that  stings  my  lips  in  the 
telling,'  he  added,  looking  away  from  her,  his 
voice,  no  unmanly  one,  trembling.  Finette 
loosed  her  hold,  confronting  him  with  a  little 
cry — 

'  Pernelle  has  not  been  unkind  ? ' 

He  laughed  grimly. 

'Would   that  she  were   unkindness  itself - 
haughty  as  a  queen,  merciless  as  a  slave-driver ! 
All  that  and  much  more  I  could  bear ;  but  her 
angelic  self-sacrifice,  her  more  than  motherly, 
sisterly  devotion  !     Finette,  I  must  out  with  the 


30  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

truth,  bitter  as  it  is  for  us  both,  for  all  three. 
Pernelle  would  fain  make  me  the  head  of  her 
house.  The  richest  tradeswoman  of  Dijon 
would  marry  a  poor  apprentice,  and  not  for  her 
own  sake,  but  for  his,  for  sake  of  her  mother's 
kindred.  You  understand  ? ' 

The  bowed  head  and  stifled  sob  answered 
him.  Finette  understood  but  too  well.  Laurent 
was  beside  her,  they  were  together,  lovers 
still  but  for  the  passing  moment,  for  the  last 
time. 

'  Nothing  could  be  more  generous  than 
Pernelle's  behaviour,'  the  young  man  went 
on,  his  warmth  making  Finette  more  keenly 
realise  their  new  position.  '  Her  delicate- 
mindedness,  her  dignity  you  know,  but  not  as 
yet  the  depth  of  her  goodness,  her  considerate- 
ness  ;  none  can  fitly  attest  these  but  myself.' 

'  You  will  repay  her ! '  Finette  cried,  for  her 
part  trying  to  be  generous  and  dignified. 

'With  deceit,  with  double-dealing,  with 
ingratitude,  yes,'  he  added,  stung  by  the  irony 
of  her  words.  '  Look  you,  Finette,  that  girl 
has  been  the  providence  of  my  family,  main- 
taining my  broken-down,  hunted-down  parents, 
cousins  of  her  own,  giving  my  sister  a  dowry, 


THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  THE  VINE  37 

apprenticing  myself  to  a  trade  ;  and  now  she  is 
ready  to  crown  the  work  by  according  her  hand, 
her  fortune,  her  position.' 

Finette  listened  tremblingly.  His  passionate 
words  were  not  all  clear,  but  what  mattered  the 
rest  ?  He  belonged  to  Pernelle. 

'  The  past  will  be  forgotten.  Pernelle  is 
grand,  is  forgiving,'  she  murmured.  He 
dropped  his  burden  and  caught  her  hands.- 

'  Finette ! '  he  almost  hissed  out.  '  Can  good 
women  crush  a  man  more  than  the  vile  and  the 
cruel  ?  Do  you  take  me  for  a  poltroon,  a  coward  ? 
Should  I  desert  you  even  for  Pernelle — for  two 
Pernelles,  did  the  wide  world  hold  another  ? ' 

'  I  was  thinking  of  your  future,  your  good 
fortune,'  she  got  out  timidly,  afraid  to  clutch  at 
the  too  blissful  truth. 

He  let  go  her  hands  and  turned  away  with 
the  look  of  a  man  who  finds  himself  alone. 

'  Is  it  the  rule  of  my  family,  in  our  blood,  to 
think  first  of  good  fortune,  next  of  honour,  duty, 
conscience  ?  If  I  did  not  care  for  you  at  all, 
Finette,  should  I  break  my  word,  think  you? 
But ' — His  voice  became  inarticulate,  tears  made 
the  rest  easy  ;  as  children  who  have  quarrelled, 
the  pair  now  laughed,  wept,  whispered  together. 


38  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

The  joy  of  reconciliation  was  short-lived. 
There  remained  still  so  much  to  say,  and  time 
pressed.  Laurent's  errand  could  not  wait,  or 
Finette's  either.  Hastening  on,  the  glowing 
day,  the  fragrance  of  the  vine  cheering  them  as 
they  went,  he  spoke  out  boldly. 

'  There  is  nothing  to  do  but  tell  the  truth, 
the  whole  truth.  Pernelle  must  know  all.'  With 
a  ring  of  honest  pride  in  his  tone  he  went  on — 
'  My  grandfather  died  on  the  king's  galleys 
rather  than  deny  his  faith ;  my  father  was 
branded  in  the  market-place,  my  mother  flogged 
and  shut  up  in  prison ;  their  children  disinherited, 
pronounced  illegitimate,  because  their  parents 
would  not  perjure  themselves.  Pernelle  will 
forgive  everything  else  but  meanness  in  me. 
Oh,'  he  added,  '  were  it  not  for  this  ban, 
Finette,  how  fearless  and  happy  we  two  have 
been,  might  be !  No  more  need  of  subterfuge, 
my  little  patrimony  restored,  wealth  for  us  both.' 

'  Better  times  may  come,'  Finette  said,  too 
delighted  to  weigh  her  words,  wholly  unmindful 
of  Huguette's  prophecies  just  then. 

'  Strange  times  are  coming,  that  is  quite 
certain.  The  town  has  gone  mad  ;  no  one  can 
think  of  anything  else  but  the  States  General.' 


THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  THE  VINE  39 

The  States  General  ? '  asked  Finette,  with 
childish  bewilderment  'What  may  that  mean  ? 

The  young  apprentice,  scholar  compared  to 
his  companion,  paused  for  a  moment.  How 
could  he  make  her  understand  ?  Then  he 
replied,  speaking  very  slowly  and  deliberately, 
choosing  the  simplest,  most  direct  expressions— 

'  There  are  countries — there  is  at  least  one 
country  over  the  water,  called  England,  in  which 
the  king  is  not  supreme.  The  English  nation 
'is  free,  and  the  people  have  a  voice  in  all  that 
concerns  their  own  welfare.  They  have  an 
assembly,  not  like  the  parliament  of  Dijon,  but 
composed  of  men  chosen  from  all  parts,  who 
make  laws  which  the  highest  as  well  as  the 
poorest  must  obey.  Till  a  hundred  and  sixty 
years  ago,  France  also  had  her  free  assemblies, 
called  States  General — so  we  call  what  in 
England  is  named  a  parliament.  Then  the 
kings,  even  the  best  of  them,  grew  afraid  ;  they 
saw  their  power  going,  so  the  mouth  of  the 
people  was  shut,  the  States  General  was 
forbidden.  For  a  hundred  and  sixty  years  the 
only  law  in  France  has  been  the  will  of  one 
man.  Our  souls  as  well  as  our  bodies,  our 
goods  and  chattels,  belong  to  the  king.  Do 


40  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

you  understand?'  Then,  hardly  awaiting  her 
assent,  with  a  change  of  voice  he  added,  '  Would 
that  I  had  been  open  with  Pernelle  from  the 
first!  But  the  blame  shall  rest  on  my  own 
shoulders,  remember  that.' 

The  pressure  of  his  rough  hand  thanked  and 
praised  him.  He  hastened  forward,  Finette 
trying  to  keep  his  pace.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill 
she  paused. 

1 1  must  turn  back  nowr,'  she  said  ;  '  the  cure 
will  be  up  by  this  time,  and  you  will  get  on 
faster  without  me.  Adieu,  Laurent.' 

No  one  was  near.  Without  shifting  his 
burden,  he  stooped  to  touch  her  forehead  with 
his  lips,  echoing  the  words.  His  voice  was 
tender,  but  very  sad.  She  waited  and  waited. 

'Adieu,'  he  repeated,  and  made  for  the  slope 
opposite.  Then  she  ran  after  him,  whispering 
in  his  ear,  '  I  mind  nothing  since  you  love  me,' 
frightened  at  her  own  outspokenness,  blushing 
and  trembling  as  she  hastened  home. 

The  sun  now  flooded  the  vineyards,  warming 
the  foliage  into  gold,  bringing  out  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers.  Finette  was  again  awakened 
to  the  consciousness  of  a  gracious,  caressing 
presence.  Nature  represented  to  her  something 


THE  FRAGRANCE  OF  THE  VINE  4t 

more  than  the  visible,  varying  world.  The 
indescribable  perfume,  hardly  indeed  to  be  so 
called,  rather  a  subtle  essence,  seemed  to 
penetrate  her  being,  soothing,  uplifting.  Life 
was  rough  and  knotty,  to-morrow  would  be 
toilsome  as  to-day,  the  future  she  could  hardly 
beckon  ;  yet  she  sang  softly  to  herself  as  she 
went.  The  fragrance  of  the  vine  came  as  the 
breath  of  a  fairer,  serener  world. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    BEGINNING    OF    THE    END 

As  a  drop  of  water  under  the  microscope 
indicates  the  composition  of  lake,  river,  or 
ocean,  so  a  corner  of  feudal  France,  a  single 
phase  of  rural  life,  might  be  said  to  suggest  the 
whole. 

Huguette,  the  toil-worn  widow,  whose  very 
shoes  belonged  to  the  seigneur,  childlessness 
placing  her  under  legal  ban :  Finette,  the 
foundling,  no  charge  of  the  State,  but  a 
seigneurial  chattel :  Fortune,  criminal  of  the 
law's  manufacture,  hunted  -  down  smuggler, 
poacher,  trespasser ;  in  reality,  vindicator  of 
elementary  justice — these  were  not  exceptions 
but  types,  their  like  existing  north,  south,  east, 
and  west. 

The  terrible  law  of  mainmorte  still  deprived 
peasant  folk  without  blood  relations  of  testa- 
mentary rights.  A  human  waif  found  upon 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END  43 

any  estate  became  the  dependent,  in  other 
words  the  property,  of  the  owner.  The 
smuggling  of  a  handful  of  salt  was  punishable 
by  stripes,  the  galleys,  death. 

Patiently,  rather  doggedly,  as  these  wrongs 
were  endured,  to  say  nothing  of  periodic 
famines,  pests  engendered  of  want  and  privation, 
and  other  calamities,  there  were  signs  of 
retribution  that  those  who  ran  mi^ht  read. 

O 

The  beginning  of  the  end  was  at  hand. 
Huguette's  dying  words  expressed  the  vague 
hopes  and  beliefs  of  many. 

Under  ordinary  circumstances,  the  neighbours 
would  hardly  have  quitted  plough  and  pruning- 
knife  at  the  rumour  of  her  death.  She  had 
never  cultivated  sociabilities,  and  to  most,  in- 
deed, had  showed  a  forbidding  front.  Only  one 
person  was  ever  in  her  confidence — the  odd 
little  man  now  fashioning  a  rude  coffin  for  his 
benefactress.  But  solemn  news  spreads  some- 
how. Long  ere  Finette's  return,  the  place 
was  literally  besieged.  Fortune,  keeping  his 
thoughts  to  himself,  chuckled  inwardly.  He 
knew  well  enough  what  brought  these  good 
folks  hither. 

1  A  new  trade,  that ! '  cried  the  first  comer, 


44  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

a  shrewd,  middle  -  aged  man  of  rather  less 
pinched  and  poverty-stricken  appearance  than 
his  fellows.  '  Who  would  have  dreamed  of 
seeing  Dame  Huguette  coffined  like  a  lady,  eh, 
Jeanne  ? ' 

Close  behind  was  his  wife,  a  sturdy  matron, 
with  bare  brawny  arms,  and  dusty,  unstockinged 
feet  thrust  into  sabots.  She,  too,  was  a 
specimen  of  the  more  prosperous  peasant, 
with  bettered  circumstances,  becoming  a  trifle 
materialistic. 

'  Fortune  can  do  as  he  pleases ;  but  don't 
waste  any  good  timber  on  me,  Pierre,  when  my 
turn  comes  to  be  laid  in  the  churchyard,'  was 
the  reply,  the  speaker  all  the  while  casting  her 
eyes  right  and  left  and  making  signs  to  her 
husband. 

'  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  Velours  sold  this  bit 
of  land,  would  you,  Renard  ?  '  said  the  man. 

'  What  Monsieur  le  Marquis  will  do,  I  can't 
say,'  Fortun6  replied,  hammering  away.  It 
affronted  him  to  hear  his  patron  designated  by 
surname  only.  The  most  down-trodden  at  this 
period  were  often  the  most  loyal. 

The  pair,  hearing  voices  approach,  inter- 
changed glances.  Before  other  visitors  could 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END  45 

arrive,  Pierre  bent  down  and  whispered  in 
Fortune's  ear. 

'  Look  you,  my  man,  Jeanne  and  I  have  had 
luck  with  our  vineyard  of  late.  Get  me  wind 
of  this  sale,  if  sale  there  be,  and  I  won't  forget 
you.  Meantime ' — he  slipped  a  few  sous  into 
the  other's  pocket ;  then  in  a  quite  different  tone 
addressed  the  new-comers. 

'  So  you  have  come  to  inquire  when  our 
neighbour  is  to  be  buried,  Father  Robert? 
Eh,  Victorine,  how  is  the  young  litter?  You 
here,  Etienne !  What  bird  whispered  news  of 
Huguette's  death  into  your  ear?  ' 

The  last  remark  was  uttered  ironically.  In- 
deed, Pierre's  greetings  had  been  satire  from 
first  to  last.  Conscience  told  him  well  enough 
why  these  good  folks  affected  neighbourly  zeal. 

A  little  crowd  had  now  gathered  round  the 
poor  premises,  men  and  women  with  hoe  or 
spade  in  hand,  dress  and  physiognomy  betoken- 
ing degrees  of  poverty.  Only  one  or  two 
showed  the  decent  appearance  and  cheery  mien 
of  Pierre  and  Jeanne;  the  rest  were  evidently 
but  too  well  acquainted  with  grinding  care. 

As  famished  herds  shut  out  from  lush 
pasturage,  all  stood  gazing  wistfully,  hungrily, 


46  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

at  the  tiny  estate  they  coveted,  but  could  not 
buy. 

Innate,  inherited  thirst  for  possession,  in 
other  words,  independence,  self-sufhcingness, 
then  as  to-day  dominated  the  French  peasant, 
was  the  moving  spring  of  every  action.  These 
sunburnt,  prematurely  aged  fathers  of  families 
and  matrons  understood  not  only  the  market- 
able but  the  moral  value  of  a  louis  d'or.  The 
gold  piece  toiled  for  from  dawn  till  sunset, 
from  January  to  December,  rescued  from  the 
clutches  of  triple  taxation,  royal,  seigneurial, 
ecclesiastic,  was  as  his  very  life-blood.  His 
forerunner,  Gallic  slave  of  Roman  lord,  could 
purchase  freedom  by  risking  his  life  through 
the  enemy's  lines,  playing  the  hazardous  part 
of  spy.  The  manumission  of  his  descendant, 
well-nigh  a  thousand  years  later,  could  only  be 
achieved  by  lucre,  privilege  after  privilege  being 
haggled  over  as  wares  offered  for  sale. 

*  Well,  and  how  did  the  grandame  meet  her 
end  ? '  continued  Pierre,  affecting  concern  in 
matters  to  which  he  was  supremely  indifferent. 
The  worthy  vintager  could  not  be  called 
irreligious— he  performed  his  duties  as  a 
Catholic ;  but  each  man  for  himself,  he  said. 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END  47 

The  spiritual  affairs  of  others  need  trouble  no 
one. 

The  Revocation  had  brought  about  results 
exactly  the  reverse  of  those  anticipated  by  its 
authors.  Instead  of  effecting  religious  unity, 
it  had  awakened  even  among  the  orthodox  a 
desire  for  toleration.  Humanity  at  last  began 
to  blush  for  crimes  committed  in  the  name  of 
piety.  From  one  end  of  France  to  the  other, 
folks  were  weary  of  legislation  as  cruel  as  it  was 
impolitic. 

'  How  did  Huguette  meet  her  end  ? '  Fortune 
said,  looking  up.  '  Ah,  not  as  you  or  I  shall 
do,  neighbour.  She  was  a  strange  creature,  but 
a  master  woman.' 

These  mystifying  remarks  failed  to  arouse 
interest.  Feigning  attention,  however,  each 
anxious  to  hoodwink  his  neighbour,  one  after 
another  put  questions.  Had  Huguette  refused 
shrift,  talked  strangely  at  the  last ;  had  she  con- 
trived to  scrape  together  a  crown  or  two  for 
Finette,  her  foster-child?  All  the  time  these 
clamourers  for  news  stole  furtive  glances  at 
field  and  vineyard.  The  longing  in  every  eye 
was  pathetic  to  behold.  It  was  as  the  look  of 
sick  men  at  the  healthful,  of  the  childless  at 


48  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

blooming  boys  and  girls,  of  the  orphan  unloved 
at  the  loving,  joyous  family  board.  The  patch 
of  rye,  the  vine-clad  slope,  meant,  oh,  so  much  ! 
heritage  of  stalwart  son,  dowry  of  only  daughter, 
but  they  were  unobtainable.  What  with  the 
king's  taxes — a  civil  list  of  twenty-five  millions 
was  not  easily  wrung  from  a  bankrupt  nation— 
what  with  dues  and  tithes  to  seigneur  and  cure\ 
the  peasant  was  poorer  than  in  the  Middle  Ages. 

Whilst  moodily,  almost  savagely,  gazing  on 
the  tantalising  treasure,  one  apparently  obvious 
reflection  seemed  absent  from  all.  This  little 
plot  of  ground,  purchased  inch  by  inch  with 
family  savings,  cultivated  so  assiduously  by 
Huguette  for  upwards  of  half  a  century,  now 
reverted  to  the  original  owner.  And  why? 
Because  the  law  would  have  it  so.  Huguette, 
being  childless,  had  no  right  to  will  away  her 
own. 

As  yet  the  time  was  not  ripe  for  wholesale 
indictments  of  law  and  system.  These  wistful 
gazers  were  full  of  wrongs  that  touched  them 
more  nearly.  Thought  one — If  only  all  these 
years  I  had  been,  like  the  marquis  and  the  abbe, 
free  from  road -tax  and  poll-tax!  Mused  a 
second — If  only — ah,  if  only  we  poor  folks  could 


TJfK  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END  40 

sow,  reap,  grind  corn,  bake  bread,  sell  when  we 
please  !  Pondered  a  third — Kings,  forsooth  ! 
should  they  not  prevent  the  peasant's  crop 
from  serving  as  game  preserve,  rabbit  course, 
granary,  of  the  seigneur?  The  passive  re- 
monstrance and  stored-up  indignation  written 
on  every  face  was  more  suggestive  than  any 
oratory. 

Fortune's  voice  .roused  even  the  calculating 
Pierre.  Whilst  putting  on  a  careless  look, 
he  had  been  appraising  Huguette's  escheated 
heritage,  valuing  to  a  sou,  cabbage  -  garden, 
tiny  cornfield  and  vineyard.  He  now  glanced 
up  with  the  rest. 

'  When  folks  can  read,'  began  the  oracle 
—Fortune's  reputation  for  insight  equalled  that 
of  his  cunning — '  their  wisdom  may  or  not 
be  their  own.  Huguette,  poor  soul,  was  as 
ignorant  as  myself;  but  I  have  changed  my 
opinion,  neighbour.  No  witch  was  she;  instead, 
a  wise  woman  on  whom  had  fallen  the  gift  of 
prophecy.' 

'  Had  she  holy  shrift?'  asked  the  women  in 
a  breath  ;  they  felt  that,  being  satisfied  on  this 
point,  they  need  not  trouble  themselves  on  any 
other.  It  seemed  so  much  easier  to  believe  in 

4 


50  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

the  devil  than  in  good  angels.  Huguette's  gift 
was  most  likely  Satanic,  but  the  shrift  father 
would  convoy  her  soul  safely  to  heaven. 

'  Tush,  tush,  women  !  hold  your  gabble.  As 
if  I  should  put  boards  together  for  an  un- 
absolved  heathen,'  said  the  little  wizen-faced 
man  impatiently.  '  Will  you  for  once  listen 
five  minutes  ? ' 

The  speakers  fell  back  meekly.  He  went 
on,  no  longer  hammering  away,  but  standing  up 
and  confronting  his  audience. 

'We  all  know  well  enough  that  Huguette's 
wisdom  was  her  own.  What  she  said  was  this 
— spoken,  mind  you,  when  the  warmth  of  life  had 
almost  vanished,  when  she  could  no  longer  see 
our  faces,  and  only  a  few  minutes  more  of  earth 
remained  to  her.  "A  change  is  at  hand,"  she 
said  in  an  awful  voice — it  rings  in  my  ears  still. 
"  Horror  and  darkness  are  upon  the  land,  but 
following  after,  days  such  as  the  like  of  us  have 
never  seen.  Heaven  has  not  forgotten  the 
peasant.  It  is  night  with  him  now.  The  dawn 
is  there ! "  ' 

Imitating  the  dead  woman's  tone  and  gesture, 
he  repeated  the  words,  as  he  did  so,  pointing 
eastward.  For  a  moment  his  listeners  remained 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  END  51 

silent,  awestruck  rather  by  Fortune's  solemnity 
than  by  anything  they  had  heard. 

Emotion,  sentiment,  show  of  feeling,  were 
uncongenial  to  these  hard-worked,  much-tried 
men  and  women.  There  was  a  general  feeling 
of  relief  when  Pierre  opened  his  lips.  More 
of  a  man  of  the  world  than  his  neighbours, 
able  also  to  read  and  write,  a  much-coveted 
superiority,  better  off  too,  which  gave  him  an 
unquestionable  advantage,  he  broke  the  spell 
with  a  jest. 

'  Gift  of  prophecy,  indeed  !  The  good  woman 
was  thinking  of  the  States  General,  that  is  all.' 

The  universal  laugh  met  with  severe  rebuke. 

'  Huguette  knew  no  more  of  the  States 
General  than  my  sainted  mother  in  her  grave. 
That  I  can  vouch  for,'  retorted  Fortune. 
'  But  you  shall  hear  the  rest  another  time,  when 
it  suits  me ' ;  and  so  saying,  he  sulkily  returned 
to  his  task.  They  might  tease  and  taunt,  not 
another  syllable  was  to  be  got  out  of  the 
affronted  orator  now.  In  pairs — each  husband- 
man was  accompanied  by  his  wife,  fellow 
toiler  in  field  and  vineyard — the  crowd  dis- 
persed. But  neither  revelation  nor  jest  were 
forgotten.  Folks  talked  little  over  their 


52  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

labours  ;  to-day  a  new  direction  was  given  to 
their  thoughts.  What  if  Huguette's  words 
were  a  prophecy  indeed,  and  the  States 
General — in  other  words,  a  free  parliament 
—would  stand  up  for  the  people,  frame  more 
merciful,  juster  laws  ?  Hope  was  faint  in  every 
breast,  oppression  had  deadened  sensibilities, 
ill-usage  brutified  even  the  gentle  ;  for  the  most 
part,  folks  had  long  resigned  themselves  to 
abject  circumstance.  Yet  the  summoning  of 
the  States  General  and  the  drawing  up  of 
the  cahiers  or  petitions  in  every  village  might 
well  set  the  dullest  thinking.  When,  indeed, 
husband  or  wife  broke  silence  over  hoeing  or 
vine-dressing,  it  was  to  speak  of  Huguette  and 
her  predictions. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE    BEAUTIFUL    MERCER 

OVER  against  the  exquisitely  sculptured  facade 
of  Notre  Dame,  crown  of  Burgundian  architec- 
ture, under  the  famous  Jacquemart  clock,  in 
the  Rue  Musette,  were  the  open  stalls  of  Pernelle 
Nesmond,  or  the  Beautiful  Mercer — seldom  was 
she  called  by  any  other  name.  From  early 
morning  till  nightfall,  the  young  mistress  of  the 
Coiffe  a  Merveille — such  was  her  shop  sign — 
might  be  seen,  keeping  an  eye  upon  her  twin 
sisters  and  apprentices,  interchanging  a  word 
with  this  customer  and  that,  turning  spare 
moments  to  account  by  exquisite  millinery. 
No  idle  vaunt  was  the  signboard  over  the  door. 
Here,  indeed,  alike  youthful  coquette  and 
portly  matron  might  obtain  perfect  headgear. 
Every  spring  Pernelle  performed  the  five  days' 
journey  by  stage-coach  to  Paris,  bringing  back 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


flowers  and  feathers,  English  muslins  and  straw 
plaits — above  all,  the  latest  fashion. 

Too  busy  for  coquetry  herself,  she  always 
looked  handsomer,  more  elegant,  than  her 
fellow  -  townswomen,  so  many  ungrudgingly 
owned.  She  could  wear  anything  ;  her  clear, 
pale  complexion,  abundant  dark  hair,  regular 
features,  and  commanding  presence  rendered 
her  queenly  always.  If  quick,  decided  move- 
ments and  an  occasional  ring  of  sharpness  in 
her  voice  sent  underlings  flying,  they  always  felt 
that  they  could  rely  on  her  justice.  The  necessity 
of  a  scolding  would  arise  every  day.  Idler 
minxes  did  not  exist  than  these  fourteen-year- 
old  twins — Berthe,  already  agog  for  feminine 
triumphs  and  liberty  ;  Barbe,  tricksy  as  a  sprite, 
and  apparently  as  untroubled  with  conscience, 
veritable  imp  of  mischief,  none  but  her  eldest 
sister  could  keep  in  check.  The  example  of 
the  pair  would  demoralise  apprentices.  But 
for  Pernelle's  constant  eye  on  the  counter,  and 
attention  to  purchasers,  affairs  must  have  gone 
ill.  Her  vigilance,  business  capacities,  and 
popularity  made  up  for  any  other  drawback. 
The  Beautiful  Mercer,  as  Laurent  had  said, 
was  the  richest  tradeswoman  in  Dijon. 


THE  BE  A  UTIFUL  MERCER  55 

Behind  this  busy,  animated  Rue  Musette, 
lay  markets,  narrow  little  streets  with  high- 
pointed  roofs,  overarching  gables,  and  tiny 
pinnacles,  leading  to  the  Porte  Guillaume  and 
the  Chateau.  The  opulent  quarters  of  the  city 
lay  beyond  the  Ducal  Palace,  with  its  graceful 
tower  and  magnificent  courtyard ;  between  the 
cathedral-like  church  of  St.  Michel — work  of  a 
friend  of  Michael  Angelo — and  St.  Benigne, 
stood  the  vast  hotels  of  nobles  and  rich 
burghers,  the  former  enclosed  in  large,  high- 
walled  gardens,  the  latter  with  sculptured 
facades  fronting  the  unpaved  streets,  not  dis- 
daining such  association  with  commerce.  Alike 
high-pointed  roofs  of  church,  hotel,  convent, 
were  of  coloured  tiles,  green,  orange,  red, 
geometrically  arranged  ;  but  severely  sombre, 
the  walls  of  St.  Benigne  and  St.  Michel,  con- 
trasting with  those  of  Notre  Dame,  glistening 
white  against  the  burning  blue  heavens. 

A  bright  and  animated  scene  was  that  shop 
front  opposite  the  portico  of  Notre  Dame,  and 
under  the  famous  clock.  Pernelle's  tall  figure 
conspicuous  as  she  moved  about  behind  the  open 
counters,  the  pretty  heads  of  the  two  younger 
girls  above  the  heaped-up  stuffs,  the  apprentices 


56  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

unrolling  gay  ribbons  or  showing  off  flowers 
outside.  All  wore  coloured  dresses,  the  some- 
what crude  dyes,  and  clear,  brilliant  atmo- 
sphere making  the  whole  vivid  as  a  mosaic  or 
illuminated  missal.  Nor  were  passers-by  less 
pictorial,  men  as  well  as  women  not  being 
merely  clothed,  but  arrayed,  their  costumes 
lending  the  street  a  gala  look.  Hardly  more 
fantastic  were  those  figures  high  above,  the 
hammer -man,  the  hammer- woman,  and  the 
child,  in  olden  Flemish  garb,  striking  the  hours 
as  they  had  done  for  hundreds  of  years. 

That  clock,  stolen  from  Courtrai  by  the 
grandfather  of  Charles  the  Bold,  was  the  pride 
of  Dijon.  Whenever  country  folks  from  the 
Forez  or  the  Morvan  came  that  way,  their  first 
visit  was  to  Notre  Dame.  The  wondrously 
beautiful  church — one  vast,  richly  carven  portico 
—possessed  secondary  interest.  Old  and  young, 
wise  and  simple,  noble  and  peasant,  had  no 
eyes  for  anything  but  the  Jacquemart.  Children 
firmly  believed  that  the  group  meant  Time 
itself,  and  that  if  the  quaint  Flemish  family 
forgot  their  duty,  night  would  never  come. 

The  clock  was  a  perpetual  apple  of  discord 
between  the  Beautiful  Mercer  and  her  sisters. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  MEt!<  •/•:/,' 


Berthe  and  Barbe  had  witnessed  the  automatic 
performance  overhead  from  infancy.  Day  after 
day,  year  after  year,  with  their  playfellows, 
they  would  watch  the  trio  in  the  clouds,  all 
three  large  as  life,  seated  as  before  a  table,  the 
bantling  raising  its  hand  to  strike  the  quarter, 
the  housewife  giving  out  the  half,  the  husband 
and  father  proclaiming  the  hour. 

Berthe  and  Barbe  could  hear  the  quarter  and 
half,  patiently  seated  behind  the  counter ;  no 
sooner  was  it  the  Fleming's  turn,  than  away 
they  dashed  at  full  speed.  Pernelle  might 
rebuke,  customers  laugh  or  frown ;  with  necks 
craned,  and  mouths  wide  open,  they  stood  in 
the  middle  of  the  street  till  the  hour  was  struck. 

But  for  the  last  few  days  the  young  scape- 
graces had  enjoyed  comparative  impunity. 
The  city  was  in  a  ferment,  the  townsfolk  astir. 
Pernelle  attended  to  business,  certainly,  but  let 
trifles  go,  from  morning  to  night  holding  brief 
animated  confabulations  at  the  back  of  the 
shop.  Friends  and  neighbours  were  perpetually 
calling,  just  to  give  her  the  last  news,  they 
said. 

'It  is  all  those  blessed  States  General,' 
whispered  Berthe  to  Barbe,  as,  breathless, 


r,8  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

dishevelled,  on  this  especial  day,  they  ran  home. 
So  preoccupied  was  Pernelle,  so  little  trade 
was  doing,  that  they  had  ventured  to  the 
market  just  behind,  filling  their  pockets  with 
cherries. 

'  And  to  -  morrow  will  be  as  good  as  a 
holiday,'  Barbe  said,  clinging  fondly  to  her 
twin.  The  pair  quarrelled,  abused,  shook, 
scratched  each  other  like  little  furies  one 
moment,  were  all  kisses  and  caresses  the  next. 
'  Don't  say  anything  about  it,  or  Pernelle  will 
keep  a  stricter  eye  on  us  than  ever;  but,' 
here  she  dropped  her  voice  to  a  whisper,  '  she 
is  going  to  see  the  deputies  pass  through,  I 
heard  her  tell  Uncle  Parfait.' 

4  Then  I  shall  put  on  my  best  gown.  All  the 
apprentices  will  look  at  me  as  they  pass  ;  and 
who  knows,  perhaps  a  young  seigneur  or  two,' 
added  Berthe,  with  a  vain  little  toss  of  the 
head. 

'  I  don't  care  for  the  apprentices,  but  I  shall 
hunt  for  Pernelle's  keys  and  steal  a  pot  of 
berberry  jam,'  put  in  Barbe,  'and' — 

A  sharp  box  on  the  ear  put  a  stop  to  their  con- 
fidences. Administering  the  same  punishment 
to  her  twin,  Pernelle  coolly  turned  out  their 


THE  BE  A  UTIFUL  MERCER  59 

pockets,  and,  without  a  word,  motioned  them 
to  their  posts.  The  bodily  chastisement  made 
faint  impression,  but  Pernelle's  silence  always 
augured  ill.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  the 
culprits  remained  glum  and  submissive.  As 
far  as  business  capacities  went,  the  elder  sister 
had  nothing  to  complain  of;  both  girls  were 
quick,  clever,  and  abundantly  gifted  with  tact. 
Their  brightness  and  good  looks  rendered 
them  general  favourites.  When  discipline  had 
done  its  work,  Pernelle  would  say,  she  should 
have  incomparable  partners.  Berthe  always 
found  out  exactly  what  purchasers  wanted. 
Barbe  as  invariably  could  decide  the  wavering, 
those  luckless  ones  who  never  know  what  they 
do  want,  even  in  the  matter  of  needles  and 
pins.  But  the  absence  of  moral  balance  in 
both,  the  insubordination,  the  shiftiness ! 
Pernelle  never  wept,  weakness  she  did  not 
know,  nevertheless  her  sisters'  training  aged 
and  wearied.  It  was  the  one  burden  she  could 
never  throw  oft. 

To-day,  severity  had  brought  a  lull.  Mute  as 
the  Flemish  figures  on  the  clock,  Berthe  and 
Barbe  now  sat  behind  the  counter,  rising  with 
affected  humility  whenever  a  customer  entered. 


GO  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Accomplished  actresses,  they  could  put  on  a 
look  of  meekness  that  would  have  deceived 
any  one  but  Pernelle! 

'  Ah,  good,  steady  little  girls !  What  a 
pleasure  to  see  you  thus  following  in  your 
sister's  steps,'  said  a  voice  from  the  street, 
and  a  tall,  angular  figure  entered  uncere- 
moniously. '  Niece  Pernelle,  have  you  five 
minutes  ? ' 

'  Come  inside,  uncle,'  Pernelle  replied,  in 
quick,  anxious,  interrogative  tones.  A  betrothed 
could  hardly  have  welcomed  her  lover  with 
more  impetuosity. 

Waving  his  hand  to  the  twins,  who  began 
to  chuckle  and  whisper  as  soon  as  Pernelle's 
back  was  turned,  the  new-comer  followed  her 
into  the  little  room  at  the  back  of  the  shops. 
In  an  alcove,  handsomely  draped,  stood  the 
young  mistress's  bed,  best  bedroom  being 
parlour,  even  office,  after  general  fashion.  The 
polished  floor  was  bare  of  carpet,  except  for  a  rug 
in  front  of  the  mantelpiece,  around  which  were 
arranged  half-a-dozen  arm-chairs,  upholstered 
with  needlework.  Carved  oak  linen  and 
clothes  presses,  costly  inlaid  clock  and  bronze 
candelabra,  spoke  of  wealth  and  taste.  In  a 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  MERGER  61 

small  hanging  bookcase,  always  kept  under 
lock  and  key,  were  well-bound,  well-conned 
books — Racine,  Corneille,  La  Fontaine,  and 
a  few  of  different  stamp,  Montesquieu,  Jean 
Jacques,  Voltaire,  one  or  two  translations  from 
the  ancients,  and,  in  French  translation,  Locke 
and  Adam  Smith.  A  crucifix  hung  over  the 
bed,  but  the  almost  invariable  palladium  of 
a  woman's  bedchamber  was  absent.  No  image 
of  the  Virgin,  with  tapers  burning  before  it, 
flowers  breathing  fragrance  around,  here  occu- 
pied the  foremost  place. 

Pernelle's  visitor  was  a  masterful-looking  man, 
past  middle  age,  of  lofty  stature,  spare  to 
attenuation,  slow  and  dignified  in  his  speech 
and  movements.  He  had  the  look  of  one  by 
no  means  unhappy,  but  not  given  to  Gallic 
light-heartedness. 

Impassible,  almost  automatic,  he  now  watched 
his  niece,  as,  trembling  with  impatience,  she 
closed  the  door  and  turned  the  key. 

'  Uncle ! '  she  cried,  dropping  to  her  knees 
beside  his  chair,  kissing  the  lappets  of  his  coat, 
the  lace  ruffles  of  his  sleeve,  overcome  with 
a  rapture  too  deep  for  tears.  '  Uncle,  I  read 
your  face.  No  need  to  tell  your  errand ! ' 


62  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

He  nodded  gravely,  yet  with  a  just  percep- 
tible ripple,  in  his  dark  eyes.  It  was  evident 
that  her  agitation  pleased  him. 

'  You  are  chosen  ? '  she  continued,  still  on 
her  knees,  still  caressing,  rather  adoring,  the 
rigid  figure  in  the  arm-chair.  '  In  your  person 
I  do  homage  to  the  French  people,  at  last 
casting  off  their  fetters,  determined  to  be  free ! 
Only  think  of  it ! '  she  added,  now  indeed  a 
tear  or  two  relieving  her  too  full  heart.  '  My 
uncles  so  differently  fated — the  one  a  victim 
of  tyranny,  the  other  a  representative  of  the 
nation.  Tell  me,  we  are  not  deluded,  beguiled 
with  vain  dreams  ?  ' 

The  armourer  again  nodded  reassuringly. 
He  was  not  addicted  to  superfluous  speaking. 
Whenever  he  opened  his  lips  he  had  something 
apt  to  say. 

'Oh,'  Pernelle  cried,  covering  her  face, 
trying  to  realise  things  by  help  of  the  inner 
eye,  '  I  thank  the  Creator  of  my  being  that  I 
live  to  see  this  day !  For  good  must  come  of 
it.  The  voice  of  a  whole,  a  mighty  people 
cannot  be  stifled,  as  men's  voices  have  been 
stifled  heretofore ! ' 

'  Listen,    niece,'    said    the    armourer,    rising. 


THE  BEA  UTIFUL  MERGER  63 

Speech  to  his  thinking  was  a  serious  matter,  he 
always  preferred  to  be  on  his  feet  when  holding 
forth.  '  You  will  see  to-morrow  such  a  sight  as 
has  never  yet  been  witnessed.  Up  till  the 
present  time,  where  would  you  seek  Protestants, 
men  and  women — ay,  for  the  matter  of  that, 
children — guilty  of  no  crime  but  of  worshipping 
God  in  their  own  way  ?  Where  would  you 
seek  them,  I  say  ?  Fettered  with  cut-throats, 
starved,  beaten,  tortured — on  the  king's  galleys, 
in  the  king's  dungeons  and  torture-chambers, 
were  Protestants  to  be  found  ;  the  galley-bench, 
the  vermin-haunted  cell,  the  pillory,  have  been 
their  abiding  place,  under  Christian  kings.  But 
to-morrow  '- 

He  paused,  and,  still  without  a  smile,  only 
the  ripple  in  his  dark,  piercing  eyes  betraying 
emotion,  every  word  emphatic  as  a  speech  in 
itself,  went  on — 

'  I  speak  sober  truth,  niece.  Twenty-four 
hours  only,  and  you  will  see  for  yourself;  true 
as  my  name  is  Parfait  Nesmond,  true  as  you 
are  your  mother's  child,  Protestants  are  chosen 
deputies  of  the  French  people,  will  raise  their 
voices  in  the  States  General !  ' 

For   the   first  time  of  their  lives  these  two 


64  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

strong  natures  witnessed  each  other's  weakness, 
and  were  unabashed.  Could  Pernelle  believe 
her  eyes  ?  The  stern,  cold,  inflexible  protector 
of  her  youth  was  weeping.  Did  he  indeed 
see  aright  ?  The  proud,  self-contained  girl, 
in  many  ways  his  very  counterpart,  in  all  his 
ideal,  leaned  against  his  knee,  sobbing  with 
joy. 

They  gave  way  for  a  moment  only.  Pernelle 
once  more  kissed  her  uncle's  sleeve — his  new 
dignity  had  turned  him  into  a  fetish,  a  demi-god 
—then,  rising,  seated  herself,  and  spoke  calmly. 
He  watched  every  movement,  not  a  word  or 
sign  betraying  approval  too  deep  for  praise. 

1  Is  the  time  ripe  for  changes  so  momentous, 
uncle  ?  May  not  troubles  arise  out  of  such 
choice  ?  '  she  asked  anxiously. 

'  Girl,'  cried  the  armourer,  at  last  roused  from 
his  stolid  and  taciturn  mood,  '  the  time  is  ripe 
for  changes  compared  with  which  this  is  a 
trifle,  less  than  nothing.  You  have  never  wit- 
nessed the  overflowing  of  the  Loire — I  have. 
For  years,  for  generations,  for  centuries,  the 
river  may  have  flowed  by  many  a  town,  doing  no 
harm  even  at  its  fullest,  held  in  check  by  dyke 
and  dam.  But  there  comes  a  moment  when 


THE  BE  A  UTIFUL  MERCER  65 

these  are  powerless,  and  the  earth  is  visited  by  a 
second  deluge.  I  was  at  Nantes  once  during  an 
inundation — you  have  heard  me  tell  the  story. 
On  a  sudden,  before  men  had  time  to  prepare 
themselves,  the  river  was  in  the  streets,  boats 
plied  to  and  fro,  the  citizens  were  imprisoned  in 
their  upper  storeys,  whilst  looking  westward 
it  was  as  if  the  very  ocean  would  engulf  the 
town.  One  by  one  the  little  wooded  islands  in 
the  river's  mouth  vanished  from  sight,  then  the 
riverside  villages  ;  then  the  sloping  meadows, 
till  at  last  only  church  steeples  and  tree-tops 
remained,  and  still  the  waters  rushed  onwards, 
carrying  everything  before  them.'  He  looked 
at  his  listener  inquiringly.  Did  she  divine  his 
meaning  ? 

'So  will  it  be  now, 'added  Nesmond.  '  Only' 
—again  his  penetrating  gaze  was  fixed  upon  the 
girl's  face — '  instead  of  a  river  that  has  broken 
down  its  barriers,  a  nation  has  thrown  off  its 
chains  ;  instead  of  villages  that  will  be  swept 
away,  flocks  and  herds,  furniture  and  cooking 
vessels,  it  is  tyrannies  and  tyrants.' 

She  heard  silently.    Transport  had  given  place 
to  apprehension.       Her  uncle's  words  thrilled, 
but  with  the  sound  of  a  war-cry. 
5 


G6  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  Uncle,  I  trust  you  ;  you  have  ever  been  an 
upright  and  temperate  man.  You  will  clamour 
for  justice,  not  vengeance  ? '  she  said.  The 
pair  were  equals.  This  maiden  of  twenty-two 
and  the  grave  sexagenarian,  mentor  of  her 
unformed  years,  intellectually  speaking,  were 
contemporaries.  Her  generous  appeal  was 
spoken  without  excuse  or  hesitation. 

'There  is  time  enough  to  talk  of  both,'  he 
replied,  again  with  the  strange  gleam  in  his  eyes 
that  did  duty  for  a  smile.*  '  But  the  words  you 
used  just  now — justice,  vengeance — are  they 
not  often  one  and  the  same  thing  ?  The  suffer- 
ings of  the  people,  the  bankruptcy  of  France, 
must  we  blame  Heaven,  think  you,  or  human 
beings  ?  Suffering  hitherto  has  been  the  por- 
tion of  the  innocent,  the  helpless.  Shall  the 
guilty,  the  once  powerful,  escape  when  the  day 
of  retribution  comes  ?  ' 

Pernelle  pondered. 

'  Our  country-people  are  very  meek,'  she 
said  ;  '  even  in  times  of  famine  the  peasant 
is  resigned.' 

He  uttered  an  exclamation  of  impatience. 

'  But  the  worm  turns  at  last !  Well,  I  must 
off  and  away.' 


THE  BE  A  UTIFUL  MERCER  G7 

His  hand  was  on  the  door  when  she  motioned 
him  back. 

'  A  word  about  Laurent ;  I  have  done  as  I 
said — as  you  advised  me  to  do.' 

'  Good,  good,'  was  the  hurried,  almost  absent 
answer. 

A  question  momentous  to  both  a  few  days 
before,  had  become  comparatively  insignificant ; 
the  awfulness  of  the  moment  dwarfed  personal 
concerns. 

Pernelle's  voice  roused  him.  In  a  tone  of 
apology  she  added — 

'  Of  myself  I  do  not  think,  I  have  no  scruple. 
But  the  children's  prospects — will  my  twins 
suffer?' 

Parfait  laughed  away  the  misgiving. 

4  The  law  proclaimed  Laurent  his  father's 
son,  in  other  words,  declared  the  heretic  a 
citizen,  a  year  ago.  The  States  General  will 
do  the  rest.  Who  knows  ?  Ere  those  minxes 
yonder  are  grown  up,  my  nephew,  your  hus- 
band, may  have  got  back  his  own,  the  lands 
confiscated  by  the  Revocation  ?  As  to  other 
matters,  you  and  I,  niece,  are  pretty  much 
of  one  mind,  I  think.  We  look  first  to 
what  a  man  does,  next  to  what  he  believes — 


08  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

examine  his  life  before  we  pick  his  creed  to 
pieces.' 

He  kissed  her  on  the  forehead,  and,  nodding- 
to  the  giglets  behind  the  counter,  hastened  off. 

'  Those  blessed  States  General  ! '  whispered 
Barbe  to  Berthe.  '  Look  at  sister  Pernelle  ; 
she  is  no  more  minding  us  than  the  figures  on 
the  clock.  So  one  more  game  of  dominoes, 
darling1 ! ' 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE    MUSTER 

NEXT  morning  dawned  appropriately.  The 
peerless  day  befitted  the  splendid  occasion. 
Only  light  clouds  just  tinted  with  pink  and  gold 
floated  about  the  dazzling  heavens,  only  soft 
breaths  were  wafted  from  flowering  vineyard 
and  piny  hills.  Never  had  the  proud  city  of 
Dijon  shown  to  greater  advantage  ;  its  close-set 
towers  and  pinnacles  shining  in  the  sun,  the 
curved  spire  of  St.  Benigne  towering  above 
all,  and — was  it  mere  fancy  ? — to-day  more 
perceptibly  bent,  as  if  to  join  in  the  general 
thanksgiving. 

The  trio  striking  the  hours  in  cloudland,  as 
they  had  struck  them  since  the  days  of  Charles 
the  Bold,  looked  down  on  a  spectacle  not 
to  be  matched  in  their  experiences.  Certes, 
yonder  Fleming  and  his  spouse  must  have  seen 
many  a  wondrous  sight  during  the  long  spell  of 


70  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

centuries,  none  that  could  compare  with  this  ; 
yet  they  held  their  seats,  automatically  giving 
out  the  hours,  only — so  thought  some — with 
more  than  usual  alacrity  and  sonorousness. 
Keeping  the  hammer-man  and  hammer-woman 
company — better  still,  stationed  on  the  Ducal 
Tower  close  by — a  spectator  would  have  gained 
an  image  of  the  ocean.  Few  indeed  of 
the  crowds  present  had  ever  beheld  the 
Mediterranean,  much  less  the  Atlantic.  To-day 
they  were  in  presence  of  a  living  sea,  an  ever- 
swelling,  ever-growing  tide  of  human  heads. 
From  all  directions  and  by  all  kinds  of  con- 
veyances folks  came,  many  had  made  long 
journeys  on  foot,  the  poorest  wearing  holiday 
garb. 

As  each  stream  of  sightseers  issued  from  the 
city  gates,  it  was  curious  to  notice  how  they 
differed,  north,  south,  east,  and  west  sending  its 
special  contingent,  each  having  strongly-marked 
characteristic.  The  western  gate  disgorged  a 
prosperous  crowd,  wealthy  vintagers  and  wine- 
merchants  from  the  graceful,  half  Flemish 
little  town  of  Beaune,  barge-owners,  shipwrights, 
and  timber  merchants  from  Seurre,  heroic  St. 
Jean  de  Losne,  and  Auxonne,  so  daintily  placed 


THE  MUSTER  71 


on  the  Saone,  all  in  semi  -  Quakerish  garb ; 
they  wore  three-cornered  felt  hats,  black  cloth 
redingotes,  or  frock-coats,  of  English  pattern, 
long-lappeted  waistcoats  of  bright  colour  and 
rich  stuff,  dark  breeches  and  stockings,  one 
pair  worn  over  another  to  improve  the  shape 
of  the  leg. 

Not  of  wholly  unprosperous  appearance  were 
the  peasants  from  the  same  region,  with  clothes 
of  coarse  homespun,  but  neither  ragged  nor 
unseemly;  some  wore  sabots,  others  shoes,  which 
for  economy's  sake  they  had  carried  until 
entering  the  town.  Their  headgear  consisted 
of  the  red  woollen  cap  usually  worn  by  country- 
men at  this  time,  so  soon  to  be  made  symbolic 
of  equality  before  the  law,  also,  alas  !  of  violence 
inseparable  from  revolution.  These  small 
vintagers  and  farmers  had  a  certain  polished, 
cosmopolitan  air,  as  of  men  accustomed  to  cities. 
Of  very  different  appearance  were  the  shep- 
herds of  the  Morvan,  their  looks  astounding  the 
town's  folk.  For  the  first  time  these  uncouth 
strangers  evidently  beheld  glittering  booths, 
nobles  in  velvet  and  gold  lace,  ladies  in  sedan 
chairs,  hotels  and  palaces ;  and  as  certainly  for 
the  first  time  most  Dijonnais  elbowed  such 


72  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

neighbours.  Vercingetorix  and  his  followers 
seemed  alive  again,  spirited  from  the  grave  to 
acclaim  the  dawn  of  freedom  !  The  highlanders 
of  Chateau  Chinon  were  attired  much  after 
the  fashion  of  their  haughty  forerunners,  those 
men  who  '  feared  not  death,'  and  for  seven 
years  kept  Caesar  at  bay.  Over  their  broad 
shoulders  they  wore  the  short  Gallic  sagum,  or 
cloak  of  undressed  goatskin  or  rough  plaid  ; 
armlets  and  anklets,  painted  shield  and  lance, 
would  have  completed  the  illusion. 

Contrasted  alike  with  burly  citizens  and 
wild  mountaineers,  were  small  processions  from 
Flavigny  and  Citeaux,  attenuated  Dominicans 
in  their  white  robes,  walking  with  heads  bowed 
down,  reading  as  they  went ;  rubicund,  plump 
Franciscans  in  brown  robe  and  white  girdle, 
airily  chatting,  glad  to  feel  themselves  in  a 
crowd. 

Conspicuous  groups  also  were  the  rich  cor- 
porations, butchers  of  Semur,  ironmasters  of 
Creuzot,  corn  merchants  of  the  Plat  de  Langres, 
or  great  eastern  plain.  Each  little  company 
kept  together,  the  representatives  exciting 
general  admiration  on  account  of  their  well- 
known  opulence.  Although  dressed  after  the 


THE  MUSTER  73 


manner  of  other  folks,  all  were  recognised, 
certain  callings,  as  we  know,  stamping  appear- 
ance and  physiognomy. 

Mingling  with  the  crowd,  sightseers  in  their 
best,  townsfolk  in  gala  dress,  the  city  itself 
decked  out  with  garlands  and  gay  draperies, 
were  furtive,  slouching  figures  that  seemed  to 
shun  the  day,  as  if  conscious  of  putting  it  to 
shame. 

Wan,  livid,  almost  spectral  in  their  hollow- 
eyed  meagreness,  their  tattered  clothes  hardly 
answering  the  purposes  of  decency,  these  men, 
women,  and  children  but  vaguely  suggested 
humankind.  They  looked  rather  like  some 
intermediate  species,  a  race  appertaining 
neither  to  the  higher  nor  lower,  appealing 
to  feelings  alike  of  horror  and  pity. 

As  a  dark  thread  running  through  gorgeous 
embroidery,  the  poverty-stricken,  the  vagabond 
and  the  outlaw,  shared  the  festival. 

'  Quick,  Barbe !  a  loaf  of  bread  and  broken 
meat  for  the  poor.  Berthe,  fetch  my  reticule  ; 
and  mind,  give  each  of  you  a  sou  of  your  own 
to  the  next  beggar,'  cried  Pernelle,  as,  her 
toilette  finished,  she  entered  the  shop. 

Little   business    was    doing,    but    the    open 


74  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

mercers'  and  drapers'  stalls  with  their  display 
of  goods  added  gaiety  to  the  scene,  and, 
stationed  .in  front,  their  owners  could  see  and 
hear  all  that  was  going  on.  For  the  most  part, 
apprentices  and  serving  people  were  accorded 
a  holiday. 

Pernelle  and  her  sisters  made  a  captivating 
group.  The  Beautiful  Mercer,  never  shrinking 
from  an  initiative,  wore  a  plain  white  muslin 
gown,  Parisian  fashion,  lately  introduced  by 
Creole  ladies,  and  in  high  favour  at  court. 

Berthe  and  Barbe,  already  coquettes  to  the 
finger-tip,  looked  as  if  they  had  just  walked  out 
of  Watteau's  canvas.  They  wore  fine  Indian 
cambrics  spotted  with  pale  yellow,  pointed 
waists,  short  sleeves,  and  balloon-like  upper 
skirts  open  at  the  front ;  crowning  piled  up 
hair,  quaint  coif,  half  bonnet,  half  cap,  tied 
under  the  chin,  high-heeled  shoes,  primrose- 
coloured  stockings  dotted  with  black,  and  long 
mittens  made  up  the  costume. 

Whilst  Pernelle  remained  unmindful  of  her 
new  attire,  the  twins  showed  their  apprecia- 
tion every  moment.  Words,  looks,  gestures 
became  artificial,  no  less  adjuncts  of  finery 
than  pins  and  tags. 


THE  MUSTER  75 


To  behold  Berthe  waiting  on  a  customer 
was  as  good  as  a  play.  Not  a  feature,  not  a 
muscle,  but  now  acted  a  part.  As  to  Barbe,  for 
once  the  incorrigible  hoyden  and  trickster  was 
subdued,  positively  awed  into  feminine  self- 
consciousness,  by  virtue  of  fashionable  dress. 
She  moved  about  demurely,  even  timidly,  as  if 
fearing  lest  at  every  step  this  new,  exquisite 
self  would  come  to  pieces. 

'  You  poor  old  man,  here  is  bread  for  you, 
ay,  and  money  too,'  Pernelle  said,  as  an  abject 
figure  hobbled  up.  '  Heaven  forbid  that  any 
should  go  hungry  on  such  a  day ! ' 

From  her  beautiful,  expressive  hand  fell 
one  coin  after  another  into  the  dilapidated  hat 
held  out.  Then,  with  a  startled  look,  she 
whispered— 

'  You,  Fortune,  and  thus  disguised  ?  ' 

What  with  crutches,  fictitious  scars  and 
feigned  infirmities,  the  bundle  of  rags  before 
her  was  indeed  unrecognisable.  The  muscular, 
agile  little  man  of  fifty  and  odd  years  looked 
at  least  fourscore.  Just  then  the  twins  were 
otherwise  engaged.  Berthe  had  caught  sight 
of  an  unusually  engaging  neighbour,  the  hand- 
some hairdresser's  apprentice  over  the  way. 


76  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Barbe  was  concernedly  readjusting  her    head- 
dress before  a  pocket  mirror. 

The  pretended  beggar,  laughing  in  his  sleeve, 
chuckling  at  sight  of  soldiers  keeping  guard 
close  by,  bent  low  and  whispered— 

'  Yonder  gentry  would  pounce  on  me  as 
hunting  dog  on  a  hare,  did  they  know.  But, 
my  fine  gentlemen,  Fortune  has  had  enough  of 
the  executioner's  preliminary  attentions ;  he 
won't  die  at  his  hands  if  he  can  help  it !  A 
word,  then,  and  I  am  off.  Huguette  is  dead. 
You  will  have  back  your  little  serving-maid 
to-morrow.' 

'  One  moment ! '  Pernelle  cried,  slipping  a 
louis-d'or  into  his  palm.  '  Huguette  was  friend- 
less and  very  poor ;  she  mothered  one  lonelier, 
poorer  than  herself;  let  her  be  decently  buried.' 

The  smuggler's  keen  eyes  gleamed  from 
under  his  slouched  hat,  and  he  uttered  an 
ejaculation,  but  not  wholly  of  gratitude  or 
pleasure.  Cunning  and  self-approval  betrayed 
themselves  in  look  and  gesture  as  he  pocketed 
the  gold  piece,  then  limped  away. 

Pernelle  watched  him  pityingly.  '  Oh,'  she 
thought,  '  that  there  should  be  human  beings 
so  hunted  down,  so  mercilessly  treated,  in  this 


THE  MUSTER  77 


great,  this  so-called  Christian  France  !  And  for 
what  crimes,  forsooth !  these  daily  tortures 
we  witness — the  branding-iron,  the  whipping- 
post, the  rack?  In  Fortune's,  case  miserable 
little  thefts  only — a  handful  of  the  king's  salt,  a 
head  of  the  seigneur's  game ;  in  the  case  of 
others,  a  contraband  prayer,  a  smuggled  psalm- 
singing  ! ' 

She  watched  the  tatterdemalion  disappear, 
soon  to  be  lost  amid  the  gay,  vivacious  crowd  ; 
her  own  thoughts  as  quickly  merged  in  others 
of  cheerfuller  kind. 

Fortune"  was  far  from  pitying  himself  at  that 
particular  moment ;  on  the  contrary,  perhaps 
no  one  more  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  pervad- 
ing bustle  and  excitement  than  this  escaped 
gallows-bird,  this  defier  of  the  king's  law 
and  its  ministers.  Folks  showed  themselves 
generous  to  any  one  of  unusually  wretched 
appearance ;  a  prosperous  citizen's  dame  here 
gave  the  apparently  blind,  halting  figure  a 
coin ;  comfortable-looking  merchants  treated 
him  to  a  glass  of  Bordeaux.  With  pocket  well 
filled  and  heart  well  warmed,  the  smuggler, 
poacher,  and  blockade-runner  in  general,  as  he 
might  be  called,  leisurely  made  his  rounds. 


78  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

What  especially  exhilarated  him  was  the 
handsome  gabled  fa£ade  of  the  Parliament 
prison,  to-day  a  mass  of  grey  walls  and  nothing 
more,  on  former  occasions  scene  of  direst 
bodily  anguish  and  privation.  With  true 
Gallic  bravado  he  now  apostrophised  the 
horrible  place,  giving  it  personality,  shaking 
his  fist  as  at  living  antagonist. 

1  Good  day,  Madam  Prison.  I  hope  I  see  you 
well,'  he  murmured.  '  I  am  invited  inside  ? 
Thank  you  kindly,  the  invitation  will  keep/ 

He  made  grimace  after  grimace.  '  Ah, 
hussy !  I  know  you,  better  than  you  know 
Renard,  that  I  can  vouchsafe.  Get  your  nice 
little  contrivances  for  opening  men's  mouths 
ready,  put  the  very  imps  of  darkness  to  shame 
with  your  inventions.  My  tongue  is  my  own. 
Fortune  will  neither  betray  himself  nor  his 
comrades  so  long  as  he  remains  in  his  senses, 
master  of  his  will.' 

He  rubbed  this  limb  and  that,  recalling 
chains,  lashes,  and  inflictions  more  terrible  still, 
a  grim  self-congratulatory  smile  on  his  lips  the 
while.  '  Yes,'  he  mused  ;  '  to  be  free  of  aches, 
pains,  lacerations,  and  bruises  is  a  heaven  upon 
earth ;  to  have  worsted  one's  tormentors,  as  q-ood 


THE  MUSTER 


as  a  rest  on  Abraham's  bosom.  Adieu,  Madam 
Prison.  I  may  make  your  further  acquaintance, 
to  my  cost.  Your  ladyship  will  get  no  con- 
fidences from  her  humble  servant.' 

Bowing  low,  the  cynical  jester  turned  away  ; 
entering  St.  Michel's,  he  then  solemnly  per- 
formed his  devotions. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE    PASSING    OF    THE    DEPUTIES 

STILL  the  crowds  thickened.  All  Burgundy, 
all  France,  seemed  bent  on  greeting  the 
deputies  as  they  passed,  on  wishing  the  elected 
of  the  people  God  -  speed.  By  midday  the 
streets  wore  an  unprecedented  appearance. 
Never  within  living  memory  had  such  a 
concourse  been  seen,  never  had  general 
expectation  been  raised  to  such  a  pitch.  In 
feverish  impatience  the  vast  multitude  waited, 
all  eyes  strained  towards  one  point,  all  ears 
hearkening  for  one  sound.  The  post-horses 
from  the  south,  the  mail-coaches  from  Lyons, 
St.  Etienne,  Grenoble,  the  great  cities  of  the 
Rhone  valley,  why  did  they  tarry  ?  Dijon 
must  be  passed  on  the  way  to  Paris.  So  folks 
comforted  themselves ;  earlier  or  later,  the 
deputies  were  sure  to  drive  through  the  town. 
Underlying  this  unanimity,  this  naive  inquisit- 


80 


THE  I'AtSING  OF  THE  DEPUTIES  81 

iveness,  were  of  course  mixed  feelings  and 
passions.  The  throngs  now  jostling  each 
other  good-naturedly  as  at  a  raree-show,  did 
not  more  strikingly  differ  in  dress,  looks, 
manner,  and  speech,  than  in  opinions.  To-day 
class  prejudices  and  animosities  came  very 
close  together.  The  stickler  by  tradition,  the 
upholder  of  autocratic  and  priestly  rule,  of 
absolutism  in  politics  and  theology,  elbowed 
reformer  and  rationalist,  advocates  of  legal 
equality  and  religious  tolerance.  Here  stood 
a  disciple  of  Voltaire,  a  clamourer  for  Habeas 
Corpus,  free  press,  and  freedom  of  discussion  ; 
there  an  adherent  of  Bossuet,  staunch  believer 
in  the  divine  right  of  kings,  the  supremacy  of 
the  Church,  the  subjection  of  the  masses. 

In  imposing,  to  some,  indeed,  it  seemed  awful, 
array,  were  marshalled  the  aristocracy  of  the 
gown,  the  violet-robed,  ermined  administrators 
of  the  law  and  members  of  the  Burgundian 
parliament.  Judges  and  legislators,  hitherto 
umpires  of  the  people's  destiny,  had  come  to 
hail  the  new  era,  by  a  strange  irony  of  fortune 
acclaiming  their  own  downfall,  welcoming 
overthrow. 

To-day,  as    it   might   seem,    none   thought 
6 


82  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

of  results  ;  every  mind  was  concentrated  on 
the  event  of  the  hour.  Social  feuds,  class 
prejudices,  opposed  dogma,  were  merged  in  an 
immense,  a  magnanimous  curiosity.  The  great 
sight  made  all  brethren  and  sisters.  The 
great  sight — of  nothing,  of  everything  ?  What 
had  an  entire  province  mustered  to  see  ?  Only 
a  few  fellow-citizens,  two-thirds  of  these  plain, 
homely  bourgeois,  transformed  by  circumstances 
into  heroes,  rendered  august  by  a  name ! 

At  last,  none  knew  who  gave  it,  the  signal 
came.  For  a  brief  interval  the  tens  of  thousands 
were  hushed  as  one  man ;  from  end  to  end, 
the  living  stream  coiled  round  the  heart  of  the 
town,  was  mute  and  stock-still ;  then  it  swayed 
with  slow,  serpentine  movements,  and  a  murmur 
arose,  drowning  the  noise  of  wheels  and 
postillion's  whips.  Wave  upon  wave  of  sound 
increased  the  volume ;  soon  the  low,  monoton- 
ous murmur  grew  to  a  roar  of  mingled  voices, 
as  huge  breakers  that  dash  upon  the  shore  ; 
each  many-throated,  far-echoed  shout  became 
more  deafening  than  the  last. 

'  Oh,  Pernelle  ! '  cried  Berthe,  in  tears.  To 
her  discomfiture,  the  hairdresser's  apprentice  had 
just  moved  away,  the  block  of  spectators  around 


THE  PASSING' OF  THE  DEPUTIES  83 


seemed  on  the  point  of  breaking  up.  '  I  said 
from  the  first  we  should  see  nothing  here  ! ' 

'  Peace,  child  ! '  was  the  absent  reply  ;  but 
Barbe,  taking  advantage  of  her  elder  sister's  pre- 
occupation, motioned  the  other  to  follow  her. 
Away  flew  both,  pushing,  squeezing,  elbowing 
a  passage  through  the  crowd. 

Pernelle  had  hardly  noticed  the  dereliction 
till  reminded  of  it  by  her  somewhat  crusty 
apprentice.  She  only  answered  with  an 
impatient  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders — eyes, 
fancy,  conjecture  busy  with  weightier  things. 
Another  incident  was  as  summarily  dismissed. 
Laurent  now  came  up,  dressed  in  holiday  attire, 
and  stood  before  her,  making  respectful,  even 
humble  obeisance.  She  returned  his  greeting 
automatically,  then  held  up  one  hand  enjoining 
silence.  The  young  man  moved  aside,  un- 
subdued by  her  beauty,  only  partially  alive  to 
the  momentous  occasion,  his  mind  full  of  dread 
and  misgiving. 

No  poltroon  was  this  ironmaster's  apprentice  ; 
unmalleable  as  metal  resisting  his  hammer,  the 
will  inherited  of  Huguenot  ancestors. 

Pernelle,  rich,  held  in  honour,  generous ;  he 
was  penniless,  an  outlaw,  her  protege.  He 


84  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

trembled  before  the  self-inflicted  stigma  of 
ingratitude  and  its  consequences  to  another. 
Deprived  of  his  cousin's  patronage,  thrown 
upon  the  world  without  money,  without  friends, 
under  a  social  ban,  what  would  become  of  him  ? 
And  Finette  ?  To  her  also  this  noble  girl  had 
been  a  providence,  a  good  genius. 

Pernelle's  cry  roused  him  from  self,  and  what 
seemed  suddenly  transformed  to  petty  cares, 
There  was  a  trumpet-like  ring  in  her  voice  as 
she  hailed  the  approach  of  wheels. 

'  They  come,  they  come ! '  she  exclaimed. 
'  The  representatives  of  the  people,  the  saviours 
of  our  country  ! ' 

Then,  suppressing  a  sob,  overcoming  emotion 
by  an  effort,  she  took  up  a  basket  of  flowers 
and  awaited  the  arrival,  rigid  as  caryatid  with 
corbel.  Berthe  and  Barbe  were  to  have  offered 
the  lilies  and  roses,  but  the  twins  were  out  of 
sight.  To  them  this  great  day  meant  only  a 
holiday,  gala  dress,  and  brief  escape  from 
Pernelle's  stern  rule. 

Amid  tremendous  huzzas,  waving  of  hats 
and  handkerchiefs,  and  clapping  of  hands,  the 
first  post-chaise  now  drew  up,  a  huge  berline 
drawn  by  four  sturdy  horses,  every  place 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  DEPUTIES  85 

occupied.  The  lumbering,  dilapidated  old 
vehicle  might  have  served  as  an  image  of  the 
ancien  regime  its  inmates  were  about  to  break 
up.  How  these  crazy  sides  and  creaking  wheels 
held  together,  thus  freighted,  was  little  short 
of  miracle.  Closely  packed  inside  and  out,  by 
the  aid  of  extra  relays,  the  berline  had,  however, 
performed  the  long  journey  from  Languedoc 
with  even  greater  speed  than  usual. 

With  a  single  exception,  the  travellers  were 
of  sufficiently  familiar  appearance.  Just  such 
a  contingent  might  pass  through  the  town 
any  day.  No  stage-coach  but  carried  abb^s, 
merchants,  notaries,  wine-growers  ;  and  cheers 
rose  from  the  crowd  as  one  calling  was 
recognised  after  another.  Men  carry  their 
business  about  with  them ;  and  although  dressed 
alike,  the  sheep-farmer  ran  no  risk  of  being 
taken  for  a  university  professor,  nor  the  man 
of  law,  although  in  ordinary  dress,  for  a 
tallow-chandler.  The  sober  bourgeois  costume, 
borrowed  from  England,  now  uniformly  worn 
by  the  middle  classes  and  even  nobility  of 
France,  could  not  do  away  with  certain  tell-tale 
characteristics. 

One  fare  for  a  moment  puzzled  bystanders. 


86  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Who  could  be  that  figure  wearing  semi- 
clerical  garb,  of  semi  -  clerical  aspect,  yet 
untonsured,  having  neither  crucifix  at  his  girdle 
nor  breviary  in  his  hand  ?  Folks  stared, 
tittered,  nudged  each  other,  as  light  broke  upon 
their  minds. 

Was  the  man,  forsooth,  a  Huguenot,  a  heretic, 
self-styled  minister  of  schismatic  church  ?  asked 
some.  To  others  occurred  a  different  thought. 
Were  the  States  General  already  undoing  the 
work  of  that  terrible  Revocation,  the  doom  of 
millions,  the  ruin  of  France  ?  Had  men's 
convictions  for  once  and  for  all  ceased  to  be 
crimes,  only  yesterday  punishable  by  the  rack 
and  the  wheel  ? 

Meantime,  the  subject  of  so  much  guesswork 
kept  his  seat,  looking  about  him  silently  and 
sadly.  A  cure,  fellow  -  traveller  and  fellow- 
deputy,  was  now  helped,  rather  lifted  out,  and 
borne  in  triumph  to  the  post  -  house,  women 
kissing  his  hands  and  garments,  mothers  holding 
up  babes  to  be  blessed.  Another  passenger, 
portly  corn  -  dealer,  with  much  of  the  rustic 
about  him,  was  as  vociferously  welcomed  by 
customers  and  friends.  A  third,  village  notary, 
and  utter  stranger  in  the  place,  found  himself 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  DEPUTIES  87 

no  less  of  a  hero,  all  the  notaries  of  Bourgogne 
seemed  there  to  acclaim  a  colleague.  He  too 
was  taken  off  his  feet. 

As  one  by  one  the  travellers  alighted  for  bite 
and  sup,  each  was  royally  received,  only  the 
sad,  dignified  figure  in  semi-ecclesiastical  dress 
being  left  unfeted  and  alone. 

Quite  suddenly  the  situation  changed  :  the 
moment  belonged  to  him,  none  had  eyes,  ears, 
voice  for  the  cynosures  of  a  few  seconds  before. 
A  cry  of  supreme  joyousness  rent  the  air,  it 
was  as  if  the  pent-up  transport  of  countless 
hearts  found  expression,  the  passion  of  thou- 
sands thrilled  a  single  voice  ;  then  two  figures, 
one  tall  and  manly,  the  other  fair,  white-robed 
as  a  bride,  were  bending  low  before  the  pariah, 
asking  a  blessing  of  the  outlaw. 

Laurent  had  forgotten  everything  —  his 
patroness's  probable  displeasure,  his  master's 
indignation,  worldly  ruin.  At  sight  of  this 
unknown  country  pastor,  now  chosen  as  a  re- 
presentative of  the  people,,  he  acclaimed  the 
dawn  of  religious  liberty,  he  did  homage  to 
that  great  principle  for  which  his  fathers  had 
confronted  every  earthly  ill,  forfeited  their 
substance,  poured  out  their  blood. 


88  A  I!n.}L\X<'E  OF  DIJOX 

Kneeling  thus,  unable  to  check  sobs  of 
thanksgiving,  he  felt  a  woman's  hand  steal  into 
his  own,  hold  it  fast  with  encouraging,  protect- 
ive grasp.  For  a  moment  Pernelle  had  re- 
mained inert  as  sculptured  nymph,  her  flowers 
held  passively,  her  lips  parted  in  radiant  smile. 
All  at  once  the  marble  breathed,  moved,  but  it 
was  no  smiling  Flo^a  kindled  into  passionate 
life,  rather  the  goddess  of  Hope  seemed  there, 
beautiful  impersonation  of  trust  and  looking 
forward. 

Her  lilies  of  the  valley  and  early  roses  fell 
to  the  ground  as  a  thank-offering,  and — could 
folks  believe  their  eyes  ?  To  the  astoundment 
of  the  citizens  and  the  perplexity  of  lookers-on, 
the  foremost  Dijonnaise,  the  fairest  maiden 
present,  was  doing  reverence  to  a  make-believe 
priest,  tacitly  acknowledging  a  heterodox  com- 
munity ! 

Overcome  by  emotion,  in  a  certain  lofty  sense 
no  longer  her  own  mistress,  Pernelle  had  caught 
the  hand  of  her  poor  kinsman.  Without  false 
shame,  equally  free  from  parade,  she  now  spoke 
out— 

'  Reverend  sir,'  she  said,  inclining  herself 
before  the  pastor,  'join  our  hands,  bless  us  by 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  DEPUTIES  89 

the  way.  I,  the  Catholic  Pernelle,  wed  my 
kinsman,  the  Protestant  Laurent.  So  in  the 
future  may  our  alien  faiths  be  reconciled  ! ' 

'  Amen  ! '  cried  a  deep  bass  from  the  crowd. 

Pernelle  recognised  the  armourer's  voice. 
His  word  was  caught  up  by  those  around.  A 
few,  a  very  few,  crossed  themselves  and  looked 
askance.  The  rest  yielded  to  the  movingness 
of  the  scene.  Some  sobbed,  some  fell  on  their 
knees  in  prayer,  others  thanked  God  aloud. 
And  a  yet  heartier  Amen  found  echo  far  and 
near,  when  with  unsteady  hand  the  pastor  in 
faltering  tones  called  down  a  blessing  on  the 
pair. 

Just  then  the  hammer-man  in  the  clouds 
struck  the  hour  of  noon,  raising  his  arm,  so 
beholders  fancied,  with  alerter  swing,  adding 
sonorousness  to  each  beat.  And  hardly  had 
the  Fleming  finished  his  task  than  all  the 
church  bells  of  the  city  rang  out  in  merry 
peal,  these  too,  it  seemed,  twice  as  far-sound- 
ing and  jubilant  as  of  old.  East  and  west, 
north  and  south,  that  inspiriting  carillon 
reached.  The  bargeman  and  tower  heard  it 
by  the  crystal-clear,  soft-flowing  Ouche,  the 
husbandman  caught  the  sound  as  he  weeded 


90  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

his  young  corn  on  the  plain  looking  towards 
Langres,  the  vine-dresser  paused  to  listen  on 
the  Golden  Hills.  And  each  nodded  his  head, 
murmuring  over  his  work,  '  The  passing  of  the 
deputies  !  Ah,  well-a-day  ! ' 

To  these  sweaters  for  a  crust  of  black  bread, 
the  event  seemed  impersonal ;  their  hard  lot 
could  hardly  be  bettered  even  by  the  States 
General ! 


CHAPTER    VIII 

A    MAIDEN    WOOER 

AFTER  the  piled-up  excitements  of  such  a 
day,  an  interview  and  final  understanding  with 
Laurent  seemed  a  bagatelle.  In  that  light 
Pernelle  regarded  it,  but  to  the  young  man 
things  came  differently.  Personal  dilemma  of 
cruellest  kind  occupied  the  first  place  in  his 
thoughts.  The  summoning  of  the  States 

<J  O 

General,  the  coming  struggle  on  behalf  of  the 
people,  the  mooted  reformation  of  laws  and 
government,  were  lost  sight  of,  dwarfed  to 
insignificance.  He  could  only  think  of  the 
childishly  trusting  heart  he  was  destined  to 
break.  Yield  to  Pernelle's  super-royal  gener- 
osities, and  Finette  would  be  solitary  as  himself, 
only  without  a  stinging  conscience.  Accept 
vagabondage,  a  life  of  shifts,  perhaps  hunger 
and  nakedness,  and  she  must  weep  uncomforted 
all  the  same.  The  leading  incident  of  the  day, 

91 


92  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

so  he  felt  sure,  friends  and  neighbours  regarded 
Pernelle's  initiative,  but  doubled,  tripled  his 
difficulties.  To  refuse  the  hand  held  out  to 
him  after  what  had  just  happened,  were  surely 
an  affectation  of  contempt,  a  slight  not  only  on 
the  chivalrous  girl,  but  upon  her  sex.  Could 
chivalrous  feeling,  indeed,  go  farther  ?  Opulent, 
high-spirited,  fair  to  look  on,  Pernelle,  in 
popular  phrase,  might  marry  any  one.  Even 
the  Fleming  would  descend  from  his  airy  perch 
at  her  bidding,  the  gossips  said.  It  was  well 
known  that  half-a-dozen  prosperous  citizens 
had  courted  her  in  vain.  And  she  was  to  be 
flouted  by  her  own  fosterling,  a  poor  apprentice, 
whose  father  had  been  branded,  pilloried,  im- 
prisoned ;  whose  grandfather  had  been  chained 
to  the  king's  galleys  ;  who  till  a  year  ago  had 
himself  no  right  to  bear  their  name,  being 
Protestant,  and  as  such  illegitimate  in  the  eyes 
of  the  law  ! 

Whilst  the  young  man  thus  feverishly  awaited 
an  explanation,  in  Pernelle's  mind  the  coming 
confidence  aroused  no  flutter.  A  confid- 
ence, indeed,  she  hardly  regarded  it.  To  his 
dismay,  on  being  summoned  to  his  mistress's 
presence,  he  found  the  armourer  by,  folks  going 


A  MAIDEN  WOOER  93 

in  and  out,  the  bright  little  salon  with  alcoved 
bed,  scene  of  a  levee. 

'  Welcome,  Laurent,'  Pernelle  said,  in  a  tone 
that  was  not  of  yesterday.  His  new  position 
had  altered  everything,  and  not  in  her  own 
eyes  only.  As  neighbours  came  and  went,  the 
favoured  suitor  received  approving  looks  and 
flattering  innuendoes.  The  poor  apprentice 
had  become  a  personage.  One  or  two  even 
ventured  on  a  congratulation,  but  Pernelle  cut 
them  short.  She  could  only  think  of  her  uncle 
and  his  mission. 

1  Welcome,  Laurent,'  she  repeated,  adding, 
as  she  took  his  hand  and  placed  it  in  that  of 
the  armourer,  'Wish  the  representative  of  the 
people  God-speed.' 

'  Tut,  tut,  good  wishes  will  keep,'  replied 
Parfait,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders ;  '  al- 
though,' he  went  on,  'who  knows  when  the 
opportunity  will  come  to  either  of  us  again  ?  ' 

Laurent,  hat  in  hand,  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  stammered  out  a  complimentary  word. 

'  I  understand  all  that  you  would  say.  My 
own  thoughts  you  may  not  so  easily  get  at,' 
Nesmond  continued.  Holding  the  other's  arm, 
he  added  with  emphasis,  '  Hearken,  boy. 


94  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Hitherto  your  case  has  been  a  hard  one.  No 
fault  of  your  own  made  you  penniless  and  a 
hireling.  I  suppose  I  pass  for  a  godless  man, 
but  my  creed  is  this  :  we  were  sent  into  the 
world  each  to  do  his  work  bravely  and  honestly, 
not  to  waste  time  over  matters  beyond  the 
grasp  of  the  wisest.  There  are  principles  I 
would  die  for,  as  well  as  any  man  ;  for  a  figment 
of  imagination,  never !  Let  these  things  be. 
You  were  right  to  follow  in  the  footmarks  of 
a  worthy  sire.  And  to-day  you  harvest  your 
reward.' 

He  glanced  from  the  serene  figure  in  white, 
to  the  shrinking,  as  he  supposed  overjoyed, 
lover. 

'  You  wished  me  well  of  my  new  dignity  just 
now.  What  shall  I  say  to  the  winner  of  such 
a  bride  ? ' 

Pernelle  was  too  much  occupied  with  other- 
thoughts  to  heed  the  remark.  In  fancy  she 
followed  the  deputies  on  their  way,  forecasting 
their  arrival  in  Paris,  dwelling  on  the  great 
tasks  awaiting  them  there.  Oh,  to  be  by,  to 
exchange  the  counter  and  the  gossiping  of 
a  provincial  town  for  the  larger,  enlarging  life 
of  the  capital !  Even  Laurent's  smothered 


.1   MAIDEN  WOOER  95 

remonstrance  and  appealing  look  did  not  attract 
her  notice. 

'  You  have  done  your  kinswoman  credit  so 
far,'  resumed  the  armourer,  '  neither  shaming 
her  by  word  nor  deed,  repaying  as  far  as  lay 
in  your  power  her  beneficence  to  you  and 
yours.  The  time  has  come  when  you  will 
be  able  to  discharge  a  twofold  debt.  As  head 
of  a  house,  protector  of  minors,  upholder  of 
an  honoured  name  ' — 

'  Hear  me,'  the  young  man  cried,  his  face 
aflame,  his  eyes  glistening.  '  Sir,  my  cousin, 
I  am  not  worthy.' 

'  Modesty  to-day  is  in  its  proper  place,' 
Parfait  said,  rising.  '  To-morrow,  unless  I 
misread  the  times,  men  will  need  other  qualities. 
Niece,  you  have  done  well.  Laurent's  self- 
depreciation  is  his  best  advocate  '- 

'  You  do  not  understand  me,'  Laurent  broke 
in  desperately. 

'  Ah !  here  I  am  an  interloper.  Such  ex- 
planations are  matters  for  two,'  was  the  smiling 
reply.  'But  I  must  be  off.  Niece  —  and 
nephew ' — 

'  Hear  me ! '  again  put  in  the  young  man. 

'  Niece     and     nephew — my    blessing,'     the 


96  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

armourer  retorted  hastily.  Pernelle  accom- 
panied her  uncle  to  the  door,  the  pair  embraced 
each  other  without  a  word,  then  she  came 
back  flushed  and  tearful. 

The   elow   of  enthusiasm   faded   as   she   re- 

o 

seated  herself  beside  her  lover ;  she  became 
the  Pernelle  of  common  days.  Generous, 
even  magnanimous,  but  eminently  practical, 
devoid  alike  of  sentimentality  and  pettiness, 
her  judgment  as  unerring  in  weighty  affairs  as 
in  selecting  silks  and  laces,  Pernelle's  deepest 
feeling  hitherto  had  not  taken  the  form  of 
romance.  She  gave  a  little  sigh  as  she  sat 
down,  but  it  was  no  sigh  that  belonged  to  the 
fireside  or  a  lover.  The  yearning  was  for 
graver  subjects  that  had  to  be  put  aside, 
betrothal,  contracts,  and  wedlock  taking  their 
place. 

'  I  have  for  some  time  made  up  my  mind 
to  marry,'  she  began,  frankly  and  deliber- 
ately as  if  she  were  speaking  of  a  commercial 
partnership.  '  A  house  like  mine  requires 
master  as  well  as  mistress.  You  are  gentle 
but  resolute.  I  feel  sure  that  you  would 
enforce  your  authority  over  my  sisters  and 
serving-people.  I  should  be  freer,  too,  to 


A  MAIDEN  WOOER  97 

make  those  journeys  to  Paris  and  Lyons  so 
necessary  to  one  of  my  trade,  the  business 
would  be  furthered.  But  it  is'  your  own 
interest  I  have  most  at  heart.  My  mother's 
family  is  very  dear  to  me.  Our  marriage 
contract  shall  testify  to  my  confidence  and 
affection.' 

Collected  as  before,  she  rose,  and,  unlocking 
her  escritoire,  took  out  a  notary's  deed,  Laurent 
watching  every  movement  with  the  look  of  one 
whose  will  is  paralysed. 

Quite  calmly,  and  standing  by  the  window 
near  him,  she  began  to  read.  The  long  twilight 
of  early  summer  had  not  yet  faded.  Fair 
indeed  the  view  from  this  side  casement,  the 
graceful  pinnacles  of  Notre  Dame  pencilled 
in  silvery  grey  against  a  belt  of  pale  amber 
sky,  one  by  one,  stars  glimmering  faintly 
through  the  blue  above.  Immediately  about 
the  mercer's  shop  all  was  hushed ;  from  afar 
came  the  noise  of  revelry  and  rejoicing,  music, 
dancing,  and  illumination  in  honour  of  the 
great  day. 

Amid  the  peace  and  beauty  around,  Laurent 
felt  close  shut  in  prison,  no  door  of  escape 
within  reach.  The  sound  of  Pernelle's  clear, 

7 


98  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

measured  tones  roused  him.  He  jumped  up  and 
placed  an  imploring  hand  on  the  parchment. 

'  Pernelle,  my  cousin,'  he  cried,  '  this  marriage 
cannot  be ! ' 

Wholly  misconceiving  both  word  and  action, 
the  generous  girl  held  fast  to  her  document, 
and,  with  a  little  murmur  of  impatience,  went 
on. 

'Forgive  me  for  appearing  headstrong,'  she 
said  with  charming  candour.  '  You  have  ever 
been  too  humble,  my  poor  Laurent ;  you  seem 
to  think  the  ruin  incurred  by  your  family  a 
disgrace — it  is  instead  an  honour  ' — 

A  ray  of  noble  emotion  lighted  up  her  face, 
her  voice  trembled. 

'My  suitors  up  till  now  have  offered  me 
common  things,  prosperous  circumstance,  good 
repute,  and  the  like.  In  you  I  recognise,  not 
the  scapegoat  of  fortune,  but  the  hero.' 

'  If  I   were !      Heroism  would  stand   me  in 

good  stead  now,'  the  young  man  said,  laughing 

bitterly.     '  Pernelle,  your  generosity  is  wasted — 

not  on  a  renegade  to  his  faith — Heaven  forbid  ! 

—but  to  his  duty.      I  have  deceived  you.' 

Pernelle  let  the  vellum  fall ;  she  moved  away 
from  him. 


A  MAIDEN  WOOER  99 

'You  have  formed  some  disgraceful  con- 
nection ? '  she  asked  haughtily. 

'  Disgraceful  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  but 
honest  before  Heaven/  he  went  on,  now  speak- 
ing out.  '  For  a  year  or  more  I  have  been 
betrothed  to  one  luckless  as  myself,  our  very 
misfortunes  bringing  us  together.' 

He  waited,  hoping  that  she  would  divine 
the  rest.  Pernelle,  looking  straight  at  him, 
demanded  his  whole  story. 

'  I  speak  of  Finette,'  he  said  very  quietly. 
The  painfulness  of  the  interview  had  taken  all 
the  courage  out  of  him,  he  could  only  endure 
to  the  end  in  passiveness. 

Pernelle  was  given  neither  to  haste  nor  excite- 
ment. She  deliberated  for  an  instant,  then 
replied  with  a  touch  of  scorn — 

'  You  promise  marriage  to  a  peasant  girl, 
and  in  my  service,  without  a  word  to  me  ? 
But  wrong-doing  brings  its  own  penalty.  To- 
day's compact  is  not  to  be  broken.' 

'We  love  each  other,'  Laurent  murmured; 
had  he  murder  on  his  conscience  he  could 
hardly  have  looked  guiltier. 

'  Love  ? '  Pernelle  exclaimed,  not  indignantly, 
still  less  unkindly,  voice  and  look  expressed 


100  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

amazement  and  contempt  only.  '  You  can  speak 
of  love  under  such  circumstances  and  at  such 
a  time?  But  it  is  now  too  late  to  think  of 
yourselves.' 

Pride  not  permitting  allusion  to  the  morning's 
event,  giving  him  time  to  recall  it,  she  added— 

'  A  girlish  fancy  is  easily  forgotten.  Finette 
shall  be  consoled  with  a  little  dowry,  and  wed 
an  honest  vine-dresser.  You  cannot  make  a 
laughing-stock  of  your  cousin's  name.' 

Every  word,  every  turn  this  explanation  was 
taking,  made  his  case  more  desperate.  How 
could  he  prove  his  loyalty  to  Finette  without 
playing  the  traitor  to  his  good  genius,  his 
benefactress  ?  Pernelle,  he  knew,  could  endure 
slights,  ingratitude,  even  bad  faith.  Feminine 
pride  and  high  spirit  could  not  brook  the  scoff 
of  the  world  and  contempt  of  the  vulgar. 

'  Let  us  say  no  more,'  she  added,  rising  and 
putting  away  the  deed.  '  That  poor  child,  as 
I  say,  shall  be  provided  for,  her  name  shall 
never  prove  a  subject  of  contention  between 
us.  Years  hence  you  will  thank  me  for  this 
interference,  for  having  pointed  the  way  to 
honour  and  fortune.' 

She  made  for  the  door,  dismissing  him  by  a 


A  MAIDEN  WOOER  101 

sign.  He  caught  her  hand,  kissing  it  with 
ardent  yet  most  unloverlike  appeal. 

'  Oh,  my  cousin,'  he  said,  'you  are  great  and 
generous.  You  must  understand,  pity,  pardon 
me.  I  cannot  give  up  Finette.  Our  love 
for  each  other  has  grown  with  the  years.  The 
fortune  you  speak  of  would  be  purchased  at 
cost  of  a  broken  heart.' 

'  Good  names  are  lightly  dishonoured,  hearts 
not  so  easily  broken,'  was  the  proud  reply. 
'  As  you  will,  then.  No  necessity  for  a  word 
more.' 

Without  the  usual  kind  greeting,  without  a 
compassionating  look,  she  opened  the  door,  and 
he  passed  through  the  dusky,  deserted  shop 
into  the  street. 


CHAPTER  IX 

CURE,    SEIGNEUR,    AND    PROLETAIRE 

WHILST  the  townsfolk  were  holding  revel,  a 
tatterdemalion  party  of  three  supped  gaily  in 
honour  of  the  event. 

Before  the  city  gates  closed,  Fortune*  was 
well  on  his  way  home.  Home,  in  the  full 
acceptation  of  the  word,  he  had  none,  but  as 
his  namesake  of  the  field,  he  contrived  to  find 
bed  and  board  from  day  to  day. 

The  prey  of  one  class  was  the  providence  of 
another — this  week's  jail-bird,  next  week's  pro- 
digal— and  by  an  irony  of  fortune,  denouncers 
and  protectors  were  constantly  changing  sides. 
Fortune*  had  long  discovered,  alternately  to  his 
cost  and  advantage,  that  self-interest  is  the 
mainspring  of  human  action,  only  fanaticism 
getting  the  better  of  personal  ends. 

To-night  he  did  not  make  for  the  hamlet 
over  against  the  town.  '  Little  Finette  will 

102 


OURE,  XEIONEUfi,  AXD  PROLETAIRE          103 

have  some  neighbour  to  bear  her  company,' 
he  mused  as  he  glanced  that  way,  then  turned 
in  another  direction. 

No  sooner  did  he  find  himself  clear  of  the 
patrol,  than  away  went  infirmities  one  by  one. 
Crooked  knees,  bent  shoulders,  palsied  hands, 
and  sightless  orbs  were  made  whole  in  a  trice. 
Briskly  as  gallant  keeping  rendezvous,  he 
stepped  out  under  the  rising  moon.  An  hour's 
unbroken  march  brought  him  to  one  of  those 
white-walled,  grey-roofed  villages,  counterpart 
of  many  between  Dijon  and  the  Plat  de 
Langres,  so  strikingly  contrasted  with  their 
neighbours  of  the  Gololen  Hills.  Just  now 
what  natural  beauty  lay  around  the  tumble- 
down manor  whither  he  directed  his  steps  was 
obscured ;  only  sharp  contrasts  of  light  and 
shadow  indicated  patches  of  corn  and  fallow, 
with  alternating  bits  of  forest  and  thicket. 
The  chateau,  as  this  dilapidated  old  building 
was  called,  must  at  one  time  have  possessed 
great  treasure,  so  enormous  the  walls  enclosing 
it  on  all  sides.  Towards  the  sun  windows 
looked  liberally,  but  at  the  back  neither  light 
nor  wayfarer  could  effect  easy  entrance. 

Stealthy  as  had  been  Fortune's  movements 


104  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

in  the  city  and  suburban  villages,  he  now 
knocked  at  the  postern  boldly,  the  dogs  in  the 
courtyard  making  friendly  little  noises  as  he 
called  each  by  name.  A  minute  later,  and  two 
figures,  almost  as  tatterdemalion  in  appearance 
as  himself,  opened  the  door. 

The  bearer  of  the  lantern,  and  evidently 
master  of  the  house,  wore  a  grotesque  costume, 
half  aristocratic,  half  proletarian,  alike  long- 
lappeted  vest  of  richest  brocade,  and  bourgeois 
riding  coat  of  sober  hue,  being  weather-stained 
and  threadbare ;  his  jabot  or  frilled  shirt-front 
of  fine  lawn  delicately  embroidered,  was  yellow 
and  tattered ;  still  more  incongruous  were  the 
silver  shoe-buckles  with  coronet  and  monogram 
surmounting  rusty  black  stockings  and  worn- 
out  shoes. 

His  companion  in  clerical  garb  was  even 
worse  clad.  The  faded,  frayed  soutane  told  a 
pitiable  tale  of  penury  and  neglect. 

Neither  man  owed  nature  any  grudge.  Just 
past  middle  age,  with  French  regularity  of 
feature  and  symmetry  of  limb,  hair  slightly 
grizzled,  skin  brown  as  that  of  sea-farers,  white 
teeth,  all  the  whiter  by  such  contrast,  they 
would  both  have  delighted  a  portrait  painter. 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETAIRE  105 

Gaiety  under  drawbacks,  the  ancien  regime 
consoling  itself,  were  here  aptly  illustrated. 
Fortune^  himself  did  not  readier  forget  lifelong 
ills  in  a  whiff  of  good  fortune  than  these  two. 

'  I've  news  for  you,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
such  news  ! '  Fortune  cried,  rubbing  his  hands. 

'  Our  stomachs  await  you  more  impatiently 
than  our  ears.' 

'  A  moment,'  Fortune"  exclaimed.  '  Truly  a 
wonderful  day  for  rich  and  poor  !  Huguette  '- 

'  Your  wallet,  I  say,  first,  and  your  good 
tidings  afterwards,'  said  the  host. 

'  Did  you  ever  hear  the  like  ?  As  if  houses 
and  lands  escheated  even  to  a  noble  marquis 
every  day  ?  '  put  in  the  smuggler,  glancing  from 
host  to  fellow-guest.  '  I  tell  you,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,  Huguette  is  dead,  you  may  now  claim 
your  own.'  Lj£' 

'  An  acre  of  land  '- 

'Well-nigh  two,'  interrupted  Fortune". 

'  And  a  mud-built  cabin  ;  as  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, the  crone  might  have  given  them  to  the 
first  comer.  But  now  '- 

'  Money  the  poor  soul  had  none,  and  her 
cow  died  in  the  spring,  as  perhaps  you  know,' 
added  the  other,  with  a  sly  look. 


106  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'Leave  Huguette  alone  and  come  inside,  I 
tell  you,'  reiterated  the  marquis.  Then  he 
bolted  the  door,  set  down  his  lantern,  and  with 
extraordinary  nimbleness  the  pretended  beggar 
was  searched  from  head  to  foot,  a  mere  shadow 
remaining ;  the  solid  figure  was  reduced  by  a 
third.  First  a  pasty  was  brought  out,  next  a 
bottle  of  wine,  these  carefully  packed  in  his 
wallet  had  done  duty  as  a  hump  whilst  on  his 
rounds ;  next,  the  uproarious  searchers  laid 
hands  on  smaller,  more  compressible  objects, 
dried  fish  neatly  rolled,  tiny  packets  of  coffee 
and  tobacco,  a  precious  little  lump  of  sugar 
wrapped  in  gauze  paper,  each  discovery 
evoking  a  chorus  of  approval. 

'  You  see,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  Father 
Albin,  Renard  is  as  good  as  his  word,'  Fortune 
said,  wiping  his  beaded  forehead,  '  you  have 
both  saved  him  from  the  trap  many  a  time.  I 
am  not  ungrateful.  And  to-day  the  rogue  has 
turned  honest  fellow!  No  need  for  smuggling 
or  pilfering !  Lord  love  you !  the  townsfolk 
are  so  head  over  ears  in  love  with  their  States 
General,  I  could  have  had  even  the  Jacque- 
mart  from  Notre  Dame  for  the  asking.' 

His  hosts  seemed  hardly  listening,  so  busy 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETAIRE          107 

were  both  with  their  unpacking  and  gather- 
ing together.  Crossing  the  courtyard,  they 
ascended  an  outer  stone  staircase  leading  to 
an  enormous  room,  bare  save  for  chairs,  table, 
dog-irons,  large  buffet  and  coffer  in  carved  oak. 
Preparations  for  supper  had  not  got  beyond 
the  placing  of  knives,  forks,  and  plates ;  but 
in  a  wicker  basket  close  by  stood  a  ring- 
shaped  loaf  of  coarse  rye  bread  about  the  size 
of  a  carriage  wheel. 

In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  trio  sat 
clown,  blazing  wood  fire  and  tallow  candles  ani- 
mating the  scene.  Under  the  table,  patiently 
but  confidently  awaiting  their  share  of  the  feast, 
lay  three  huge  dogs. 

'  Come,  Renard,'  said  the  marquis,  when  the 
pasty  was  demolished,  and  the  generous  wine 
had  begun  to  make  the  facial  muscles  curl 
upwards.  '  Now,  tell  us  what  happened  to- 
day.' 

He  looked  ruefully  at  his  own  garments, 
next  at  the  curb's,  adding — 

'  Father  Albin  and  myself  had  our  own 
reasons  for  staying  away.  Sapristi ! '  he  cried, 
smiting  his  coat  lappet  with  dismay — he  had 
just  discerned  a  new  rent ;  '  imp  of  darkness, 


108  A  ROMANCE  OF  J>IJON 

at  your  tricks  again ! '  then  good-naturedly  as 
before  he  resumed.  '  You  know  that  the 
Dijonnais  would  sell  his  soul  for  a  fine  show 
or  a  gingerbread  any  day.  But  the  States 
General — what  said  folks — that  the  like  of  us 
would  be  a  whit  the  better  ? ' 

That  last  phrase,  '  the  like  of  us,'  seemed 
no  mere  figure  of  speech.  The  Marquis  de 
Velours,  who  could  count  his  regulation  titles 
of  nobility,  and  whose  ancestry  dated  from 
the  Crusades,  might  have  passed  for  a  second 
Fortune,  one  pariah  of  society  more.  As  in 
the  other's  case — the  protege  of  one  day  was 
the  providence  of  another  —  dire  encounters 
with  poverty,  sordid  dealings  with  others  more 
wretched  than  himself,  had  neither  dulled  his 
wit  nor  blunted  his  moral  instincts.  A  man 
is,  however,  what  his  entourage  makes  him. 
The  naturally  fine  gentleman  was  only  at  his 
ease  among  boors  and  rustics.  As  to  Father 
Albin,  the  parish  priest,  his  condition  also  only 
just  raised  him  above  want  and  vagrancy.  He 
had  a  roof  over  his  head,  it  is  true,  and  a 
position  recognised  by  the  law  and  society. 
But  no  less  alertly  than  the  marquis  could  he 
accept  a  beggar's  banquet,  largess  of  weightier 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETAIRE  109 

services.  To  both,  Fortune  had  more  than 
once  owed  his  life,  let  alone  limbs  and  liberty. 
In  their  turn,  they  were  indebted  for  many 
a  poached  or  smuggled  treat,  fish  and  game 
from  preserves  of  richer  neighbours,  salt, 
tobacco,  brandy  from  the  king's  customs,  a 
dozen  necessaries  not  to  be  honestly  bought. 

'  You  gentlemen  say  your  say.  I'll  have 
mine  as  soon  as  the  table  is  a  bit  lighter,'  said 
the  poacher  slyly,  and  with  affectionate  glances 
at  cup  and  platter.  '  When  a  good  meal  comes 
only  once  in  a  way,  we  must  take  care  to  fill 
every  corner.' 

The  marquis  leaned  back  meditatively.  Was 
there  inherited  fastidiousness  in  that  gentle, 
yet  half  disdainful  pushing  away  of  unemptied 
glass,  that  careless  rejection  of  crowning 
dainty,  some  feeling  of  shame  amid  this  squalid 
fellowship  ? 

'  The  like  of  us  or  the  like  of  any  others  ? ' 
he  began.  '  What  good  can  States  General  do 
France  and  Frenchmen  now  ?  How  say  you, 
reverend  father?  To  my  thinking,  the  sooner 
an  earthquake  or  universal  deluge  swallows  us 
all  up  the  better.' 

'  I  have  no  ears  for  blasphemies   at   table,' 


110  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

the  cure"  replied,  helping  himself  to  the  dish 
opposite.  '  When  our  good  friend  and  I  have 
cleared  up  everything,  then.  Monsieur  le 
Marquis,  have  a  care  ! ' 

The  threat  was  flung  back  jestingly.  '  We 
are  all  drowning  rats,  and  may  abuse  each 
other  as  we  please.  A  pretty  confessor  indeed ! 
Hand  and  glove  with  poachers  and  highway- 
men ! — no  offence,  my  good  Fortune.  But  now 
tell  us,  what  said  the  townsfolk  ? ' 

'  Excuse  me,  you  gentlemen  say  your  say  ; 
I  will  listen  a  few  minutes  longer,'  Fortune^ 
replied,  casting  rueful  glances  at  the  cure,  as 
for  a  wager  the  pair  plied  knife  and  fork. 

'What  can  the  States  General  do  for  one 
in  my  case  ?  '  continued  the  marquis  ;  '  and  one 
of  hundreds — noble  without  fortune,  seigneur 
without  lands,  gentleman  without  bread  to  eat, 
hardly  the  wherewithal  to  cover  his  naked- 
ness !  Just  look  at  yonder  coffer,  it  is  cramful 
of  title-deeds  as  a  graveyard  full  of  bones,  none 
of  more  value  to  me.  How  can  a  poor  wretch 
pay  the  seigneur  his  dues  when  he  has  neither 
corn  to  grind,  wine  to  measure  out,  poultry 
at  his  barn  door  ?  As  to  title-deeds  of  other 
kind,  they  dwindled  to  nothing  long  ago. 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETAIRE  111 

Ah,    I    forget    the   great    news     I    have    just 
heard.' 

He  patted  Fortune  on  the  shoulder,  adding 
ironically— 

'To  nothing?  What  am  I  thinking  of  ?  Did 
I  not  five  minutes  ago  inherit  an  acre  of  land- 
no,  was  it  an  acre  and  quarter  ? — mud  hovel 
and  how  many  lean  hens,  did  you  say  ?  the 
Marquis  de  Velours,  being  heir-at-law  of  Dame 
Huguette,  a  widow  without  children,  and  as 
such  having  no  power  to  will  away  her  plot  of 
ground,  originally  purchased  from  my  family. 
My  grandfather  came  straight  from  Versailles, 
from  the  service  of  the  Great  King,  a  ruined 
man.  The  court  had  swallowed  up  every- 
thing, fortune,  honour,  decorum.  Even  the 
peasants  were  better  off,  they  contrived  to  buy 
his  last  remnant  of  land.  What,  I  ask,  are  the 
States  General  going  to  do  for  me  ?  Restore 
the  millions  squandered  on  court  ceremonials 
or  raising  soldiers  for  insensate  wars,  piece 
together  my  dismembered  estate,  repair  the 
havoc  of  generations  ?  Things  have  long  been 
past  patching  up,  I  tell  you,  and  there  is 
nothing  for  us  all  but  a  second  deluge.' 

Fortune  crossed   himself  and   looked  at  his 


112  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

neighbour.       The   cure,    without  appearing   to 
notice  the  last  sentence,  now  broke  in. 

'  The  court,  the  court !  Of  course  Monsieur 
le  Marquis  may  be  right  as  far  as  he  goes. 
For  my  part,  I  hold  that  France  has  been 
brought  to  bankruptcy  by  overmuch  religion.' 

'  The  end  of  the  world   can't   be  far  off— 
hearken  to  him!'  ejaculated  the  marquis. 

Feeding  the  dogs  with  one  hand,  his  chin 
resting  on  the  other,  Fortune  now  listened 
intently. 

'  I  say  it  boldly,  overmuch  religion  has 
ruined  the  country.  The  Church  should  some- 
times act  like  a  poor  cure — turn  a  blind  eye  and 
a  deaf  ear  to  his  parishioners'  little  slips,  pre- 
tend not  to  see  or  hear  this,  that,  and  the  other.' 

'  There  is  something  in  that,  eh,  Fortune  ?  ' 
interrupted  the  marquis. 

'  I  am  proud  to  own  the  fact,  no  one  relishes 
a  heretic  less  than  myself,  be  it  Huguenot,  Jew, 
or  Turk.  But,  parbleu  !  in  matters  of  religion, 
men  are  all  like  the  other  sex  '- 

'  Come,  come,  what  do  you  know  about  the 
ladies  ?  For  shame  ! '  laughed  his  host. 

Father  Albin  felt  that  he  could  here  plume 
himself  on  his  learning. 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETA1RE          113 

'  Books  teach  us  what  women  are  as  well  as 
life,  and  I  have  read  La  Bruyere.  But  every 
fool  knows  one  thing — a  woman  will  sooner 
suffer  herself  to  be  flung  into  a  horse-pond  than 
eat  her  own  words.  Thus  is  it  with  heretics. 
Not,  perhaps,  that  they  care  so  very  much  for 
their  Calvin,  their  Moses,  their  Mohammed,  but 
they  do  care  about  being  able  to  go  where  they 
please  o'  Sundays.  Take  myself:  I  am  no 
better  Catholic  than  my  neighbours,  but,  I  hope, 
no  worse.  Would  I  not  sooner  forfeit  my 
tongue  than  swear  by  Luther  or  Calvin  ?  Well, 
what  has  France  gained  by  being  religious  over- 
much, looking  to  men's  souls  rather  than  their 
bodies  ?  I  come  from  the  CeVennes,  a  region 
devastated  as  by  Attila  and  his  hosts.  Whither 
went  the  money  of  the  driven-out  Huguenots, 
their  industries,  their  sons  ?  To  enrich  other 
lands,  swell  the  armies  of  our  foes.  No  ; 
damnable  heresies  have  been  and  will  ever  be. 
Leave  them  to  God,  say  I.  Hell  is  surely 
deep  enough,  eternity  long  enough,  for  the 
worst  infidel  going,  say  I.  No  Revocations, 
no  dragonades  for  me.' 

Warming  with  his  subject,  the  speaker  went 
on — 


114  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  France  is  religious  overmuch  but  on  certain 
points,  in  places  only.  You  spoke  of  your 
feudal  rights  just  now,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
and  what  are  a  poor  priest's  tithes  and  dues 
nowadays  but  so  much  make-belief?  How 
can  I  obtain  my  tenth  of  corn  when  the 
peasant's  harvest  is  zero  ?  Even  the  best  of 
us  are  made  to  appear  as  his  enemy.  This 
honest  fellow  knows ' — here  he  pointed  to 
Fortune — '  that  but  for  him  I  should  as  often 
as  not  fare  on  dry  bread.  Yet  the  Church  is 
richer  than  the  king  himself,  the  Church  is  fat 
unto  bursting,  while  her  hirelings  starve.  And 
those  in  authority  over  us,  the  wearers  of  mitre 
and  purple,  shame  us  no  less  by  their  lives  than 
their  revenues.' 

'  What  says  my  pious  Fortune  to  such 
sentiments  ? '  said  the  marquis,  his  well-shaped, 
sunburnt  hand,  on  which  glittered  a  magnificent 
emerald  and  diamond  ring,  toying  with  his 
glass  as  he  spoke. 

'  It  is  not  for  an  ignoramus  like  myself  to 
contradict  a  noble  marquis  or  reverend  father,' 
was  the  alert  reply ;  '  still,  if  you  wish  for  my 
poor  opinion,  I  am  ready  to  give  it.' 

The  host  nodded   encouragingly,   the   priest 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLETAIRE  115 

patted  him  on  the  shoulder.  Proud  to  have  such 
listeners,  Fortune"  held  up  his  head  and  began. 

'  If  decency  permitted,  and  I  could  strip 
myself  stark  as  Adam,  I  need  not  so  much  as 
open  my  lips.' 

'  We  won't  trouble  you  to  do  that,'  laughingly 
put  in  the  marquis.  '  Proceed,  then.' 

'  I  know  nothing  of  former  times  or  other 
provinces  except  by  hearsay,'  he  continued ; 
'but  cannot  an  ass  number  his  stripes  and 
kicks  ?  Now,  I've  had  too  many,  and  it  seems 
to  me  that  the  law  wants  mending  even  more 
than  the  court  and  the  Church.' 

'  On  my  word,  the  fellow  has  a  head  on  his 
shoulders — eh,  father  ?  But  go  on.' 

'  Why  have  I  been  branded  with  hot  irons, 
flogged  within  an  inch  of  my  life,  thrown  into 
dungeons,  fed  with  worm-eaten  bread?  For 
heresy,  murder,  high  treason  ?  Not  at  all. 
Merely  for  snaring  a  rabbit,  secreting  a  handful 
of  salt,  giving  -the  bailiff  and  the  exciseman  the 
slip  now  and  then.  I'm  for  punishing  the 
wicked ;  and  if  there  is  only  one  true  religion, 
then,  say  I,  rack,  hang,  burn,  get  folks  to 
Abraham's  bosom  somehow.  But  a  poor 
poacher  or  smuggler  is  pilloried,  imprisoned, 


116  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

tortured,  as  if  he  had  denied  the  Blessed  Virgin 
and  the  saints !  No,  no  ;  not  law  but  tyranny 
that.  Then,  again,  far  be  it  from  me  to  speak 
for  myself  alone ;  there  is  the  peasant,  he  must 
bury  his  louis  d'or,  his  Sunday  breeches,  his 
flitch  of  bacon,  or  the  tax  -  gatherer  pounces 
upon  all.  Only  the  rich  can  buy  justice,  only 
the  noble's  skin  is  safe.' 

'  There  is  a  spokesman  for  the  States  General 
—eh,  father  ? '  again  the  marquis  broke  in. 

'  What  I  say  is  this,'  added  Fortune  :  '  accord- 
ing to  my  poor  judgment,  the  law,  like  a  good 
mother,  should  treat  all  her  children  alike,  not 
dole  out  favours  and  blessings  to  some,  blows 
and  curses  to  others.' 

'  One  thing  is  quite  clear,  we  ought  all  three 
to  sit  in  the  States  General,'  replied  the  other. 
'  But  now  tell  us,  how  passed  the  great  day  ? 
What  said  the  townsfolk  ?  ' 

'  Little  good  of  their  betters,'  Fortune  replied, 
glancing  slyly  from  noble  to  priest.  '  I'm 
thinking,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  that  these 
elections  mean  more  than  men  dream  of. 
Dijon,  anyhow,  has  gone  mad.  But  I  might 
keep  my  tongue  hard  at  work  till  this  time  to- 
morrow, you  would  not  be  much  the  wiser.' 


CURE,  SEIGNEUR,  AND  PROLE TAIRE         117 

A  few  minutes  later,  both  cur£  and  poacher 
were  nodding  in  their  arm-chairs ;  only  the 
marquis  seemed  further  from  drowsiness  than 
ever.  To  and  fro  he  walked  gently,  careful 
not  to  disturb  the  sleepers,  now  glancing  at  the 
moonlit  landscape,  once  ancestral  domain,  now 
at  the  family  portraits  around,  sadly,  forebodingly 
contrasting  their  fortunes  with  his  own. 

Fortune's  words  rang  in  his  ears.  Little  good 
of  their  betters,  had  said  the  people  at  Dijon. 
But  would  indignation  long  remain  a  matter  of 
words  ?  When  alike  pen  and  tongue  should 
become  free,  and  the  humblest  should  dare  to 
set  forth  his  wrongs,  what  then  ?  How  would 
it  fare  with  himself  and  his  class  ?  On  his  own 
conscience  lay  no  burden  of  oppression.  He 
said  to  himself,  as  he  cast  up  the  reckoning, 
he  could  not  have  played  the  tyrant  had  he 
coveted  such  a  part.  The  lavishness  and 
parade  of  his  ancestors  had  rendered  him 
almost  harmless,  some  kind  of  consolation  at 
such  moments.  Little  good  of  their  betters ! 
Turning  from  portrait  to  portrait,  reviewing  the 
careers  of  each  forerunner,  he  wondered  if  in- 
deed the  day  of  retribution  had  come  at  last,  if  on 
his  own  head  must  fall  accumulated  expiation. 


CHAPTER  X 

MARQUIS    AND    MILLINER 

FOR  weeks  and  months,  nay,  years,  no  woman 
had  set  foot  in  the  once  sumptuous  Chateau 
de  Velours.  Hardly,  indeed,  could  the  least 
fastidious  feminine  soul  have  put  up  with  such 
accumulated  dust  and  disorder.  The  once 
numerous  retinue  of  former  owners  was  now 
reduced  to  a  deaf  and  dumb  gravedigger,  who 
attended  daily  to  sweep,  cook,  and  wash.  From 
salon  to  mansarde,  roof  to  basement,  spiders 
reigned  supreme,  their  delicate  lacework  veiling 
faded  arras  and  washed-out  panels.  Here  and 
there  floor  and  ceiling  showed  clumsy  botches, 
that  was  all.  The  crazy  timbers  creaked  under 
every  footstep ;  an  April  shower  sufficed  to 
drench  the  upper  storey  ;  whilst  worn-out  gilded 
upholstery  recalled  a  rummage  sale  of  bric-a- 
brac.  What  rendered  the  whole  so  pathetic, 
was  the  suggestion  of  former  splendour  and 


118 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  119 

arrogance.  Fleur  de  Us  could  be  traced  on 
each  threadbare  cushion,  handiwork  of  noble 
ladies  ;  quarterings  and  heraldic  devices  adorned 
furniture,  plate,  and  even  kitchen  utensils. 
And  what  did  these  haughty  insignia  mean 
now  ?  To  their  inheritor  a  double  degradation." 
The  seigneur  might  starve  amid  empty  titles  of 
honour,  such  indeed  had  they  been  hitherto 
regarded.  He  durst  not  assert  his  dignity,  his 
true  manhood,  by  work. 

Next  morning,  Velours,  as  he  was  generally 
called,  began  the  day  by  cleaning  his  gun. 
Little  in  the  way  of  game  tempted  either  to 
field  or  forest,  but  a  poor  seigneur  found  himself 
much  in  the  position  of  a  Red  Indian  or  Pacific 
islander.  He  must  fish,  hunt,  shoot,  or  go 
without  dinner.  Moreover,  the  usual  round 
was  an  occupation.  He  could  not  thumb  his 
favourite  Rabelais,  chat  with  his  fingers  to 
Maurice,  teach  his  dogs,  all  day  long. 

In  an  ancestral  dressing-gown,  originally  a 
magnificent  garment  worn  at  Versailles,  his 
feet  thrust  in  slippers  that  also  looked  an 
inheritance,  the  marquis  began  to  clean  his  gun. 
On  one  hand  still  glittered  that  splendid  ring, 
gift  of  Sultan  to  Crusader  of  his  own  name  and 


120  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

blood,  last  relic  of  former  greatness.  Not  for 
bread,  he  declared,  not  for  liberty,  not  for  life, 
would  he  pawn  Saladin's  ring. 

On  a  sudden  he  heard  noises  outside,  wheels 
rattling,  dogs  barking,  strangers  asking  for  him, 
and — could  he  believe  his  ears  ? — a  girl  reiterat- 
ing, '  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  can  I  see  him  on 
important  business  ? ' 

'  A  woman — a  lady,  as  I  live  ! '  muttered  the 
marquis.  'Heavens  bless  us  and  save  us!  is 
the  world  coming  to  an  end  ? ' 

The  decay  of  noble  families  in  France  had 
brought  about  one  desirable  reformation.  Vice 
is  costly,  the  whims  of  disreputable  beauty  are 
ruinous.  Born  into  poverty,  descendant  of 
courtiers,  spendthrifts,  and  idlers,  for  his  own 
career  Velours  need  not  blush.  An  honest 
woman  might  at  any  time  cross  his  threshold 
without  shame.  He  was  thinking  now  rather 
of  vestments  than  morals,  of  tattered  brocade 
rather  than  rents  to  be  found  in  his  character. 
But  ere  he  could  escape,  rustling  skirts,  tapping 
heels,  and  perfumed  handkerchief  heralded 
feminine  presence.  The  next  moment,  Maurice, 
bowing  and  scraping,  ushered  in  a  young, 
handsome,  and  perfectly  dressed  bourgeoise,  of 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINE&  121 

whom  he  seemed  to  have  some  recollection. 
Surely  he  had  seen  that  exquisitely  neat  figure 
and  uncommon  face,  heard  that  quick,  decided 
voice  before  ?  Of  his  visitor's  rank  there  could 
be  no  question ;  only  young  women  of  the 
middle  and  lower  ranks  ever  went  abroad  and 
paid  visits  unattended.  But  beauty  does  not 
depend  upon  armorial  bearings,  nor  a  French- 
man's gallantry  upon  the  condition  of  his  purse. 
The  vision  dazzled  all  the  more  because  it  was 
unprecedented,  and  quick  as  lightning  came  the 
sense  of  contrast.  Humiliated,  out  of  counten- 
ance, all  that  the  luckless  host  could  do  was 
to  turn  his  back  to  the  light  as  servitor  and 
guest  passed  into  the  salon,  Maurice  most 
inconsiderately  throwing  back  the  shutters. 

'  Monsieur  le  Marquis,'  began  the  young 
milliner  in  the  direct,  unhesitating  tones  of  the 
woman  of  business,  '  I  have  taken  a  great 
liberty.' 

'  Not  at  all.  Do  me  the  honour  to  be  seated,' 
he  said,  placing  a  chair,  immediately  and  with 
deepened  colour  exchanging  it  for  another. 
The  first  was  unsteady  on  its  legs. 

'  A  thousand  maledictions ! '  he  muttered 
between  his  teeth,  as  the  back  of  the  second 


122  A  ROMANOV  OF  DIJON 

gave  way.  '  Pray  take  the  sofa.'  That  at 
least  must  be  safe,  he  thought,  not  without 
some  faint  apprehension.  What  if  a  rat  should 
frighten  his  visitor  ?  or,  worse  still,  that  slender, 
exquisitely  shod  and  stockinged  foot  become 
the  see-saw  of  playful  mice  ?  The  lonely  man 
made  friends  of  such  little  creatures,  no  poorer 
and  certainly  more  contented  than  himself. 

The  tables  were  now  turned  :  on  the 
seigneur's  side,  discomposure,  diffidence,  even 
embarrassment ;  on  the  tradeswoman's,  ease, 
readiness,  self-assertion. 

Velours  felt  a  glow  of  shame  as  he  stood  in 
the  clear,  penetrating,  unevasive  light  of  May. 
That  ancestral  gown  of  once  rich  violet  brocade, 
the  last  lustre  of  silk  worn  off,  the  last  vestige 

o 

of  original  colour  gone,  mortified  as  an  insult, 
an  arraignment  of  family  history.  The  dilapi- 
dation around  "but  too  well  became  his  own 
shabby  figure. 

'  Permit  me,'  he  said,  closing  the  shutters 
with  impatient  gesture ;  he  could  no  longer 
endure  such  tell  -  tale  glare.  Then,  still 
standing,  he  looked  towards  the  intruder  for 
explanation. 

Pernelle,    meantime,     was    gradually    losing 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  123 

collectedness.  At  first,  nothing  had  seemed 
easier  than  to  do  here  what  she  was  doing 
every  day,  coolly  broach  a  business  transaction, 
blurt  out  the  words,  '  Sir,  I  have  come  to  buy. 
Here  is  my  money;  name  your  price,  please,  for 
so  many  louis  d'or  forthwith  counted.' 

Had  she  found  a  normal,  or  at  least  traditional, 
order  of  things,  supercilious  lacqueys,  long 
delayed  audience  in  anteroom,  off-hand  steward 
or  bailiff,  passing  glimpse  of  state  and  splendour, 
all  would  have  been  straightforward.  Against 
impertinent  underlings,  grasping  bargainers, 
she  was  well  able  to  hold  her  own. 

The  complete  disillusion  put  her  out  of 
countenance.  Largely  endowed  with  tact,  still 
more  liberally  with  good  feeling,  she  now  felt 
utterly  at  a  loss.  The  bare  mention  of  crown 
pieces  seemed  difficult,  the  suggestion  of 
immediate  payment  impossible. 

'  My  name,  Monsieur  le  Marquis,'  she  began 
apologetically,  '  is  Nesmond.  I  believe  I  have 
had  the  honour  of  seeing  you  in  my  haber- 
dasher's shop.' 

'  True,  true,'  he  replied,  now  recognising  in 
his  visitor  the  Beautiful  Mercer  of  Dijon, 
recalling  certain  purchases  —  they  were  rare 


124  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

indeed — of  tags  and  buttons,  under  the  great 
Flemish  clock. 

'  I  have  ventured  on  this  liberty  in  order  to 
befriend  a  hapless  girl,'  she  continued,  not  in 
the  frank,  self-assured  tone  of  the  tradeswoman, 
rather  with  the  demureness  and  timidity  of 
some  convent-bred  maiden — '  to  lend  a  helping 
hand  to  an  orphan,  one  of  your  own  people ' — 

Her  hesitation  had  the  effect  of  reassuring 
him.  Seeing  her  really  distressed,  he  now  sat 
down,  smiling  kindly,  encouragingly,  forgetting 
the  humiliation  of  a  few  minutes  before,  only 
bent  on  putting  his  visitor  at  her  ease. 

That  genial,  courteous  smile  revealed  a 
feature  not  sufficiently  taken  account  of  in 
summing  up  personal  beauty.  There  is  a  posit- 
ive expression  in  certain  teeth,  a  charm  wholly 
irrespective  of  symmetry  or  ivory  whiteness. 
Velours'  were  small,  regular,  and  of  beautiful 
shape ;  the  smile  revealing  them  revealed 
character,  that  large,  generous,  affectionate 
nature,  cast  with  how  many  kindred  pearls  on 
dunghill. 

'On  my  word,  you  enlighten  my  ignorance,' 
he  replied,  thinking  it  better  to  make  a  jest  of 
his  decayed  fortunes.  '  I  had  no  idea  that  I 


125 


could  claim  any  retainers  —  except  bats  and 
screech-owls.  Who  may  they  be  ?  ' 

Pernelle  coloured  painfully,  not  for  his  sake, 
but  her  own.  The  reputed  poverty  of  this 
noble  gentleman,  heir  of  ancient  marquisate, 
grandson  of  the  Great  King's  chamberlain, 
had  hitherto  simplified  matters ;  she  imagined 
nothing  easier  than  the  projected  bargain — so 
much  money  down  for  a  cabin  and  plot  of 
ground,  escheat  according  to  feudal  law.  Her 
host's  ragamuffinly  appearance  and  high-bred 
air,  above  all,  his  mingled  gaiety  and  cynicism, 
made  her  task  seem  more  and  more  arduous. 
Woman  as  she  was,  none  the  less  sensitive 
because  her  life  was  devoted  to  practical 
matters,  she  saw  through  the  veil.  This 
affected  indifference  hid  deep  humiliation. 
Irony  was  but  a  cloak  for  wounded  pride. 

'It  is  of  Huguette's  foster-child  I  speak,' 
she  went  on  very  demurely,  every  syllable  an 
apology.  '  You  may  have  forgotten  a  found- 
ling whom  the  good  woman  reared  as  her 
own.' 

1  Little  Finette,  one  of  the  many  waifs  exposed 
on  the  seigneury,  the  rich  and  puissant  lord  was 
bound  to  adopt!  I  remember  the  child  well,' 


126  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


replied  the  poor  marquis,  smiling  ruefully. 
Yes,  it  was  all  over  with  him.  His  last  gold 
piece  was  forfeited.  This  charming  young 
citizen  had  come,  of  course,  to  beg,  and  he 
could  not  send  her  away  empty-handed.  '  How 
little  she  guesses  the  true  state  of  things ! '  he 
thought. 

But  a  moment  later  his  musings  took  a 
wholly  different  turn.  Instead  of  being  asked 
to  give,  he  was  asked  to  receive ;  under  the 
circumstances  Pernelle's  money  wearing  the 
look  of  alms.  He  crimsoned  as  Pernelle  o'ot 

o 

out  the  rest. 

'  It  occurred  to  me,  Monsieur  le  Marquis, 
that  perhaps  you  would  sell  Huguette's  home- 
stead and  vineyard.  Finette  has  been  for  two 
years  in  my  service,  but  I  am  now  anxious 
to  provide  for  her — give  her  a  dowry,  in 
fact.' 

She  added,  without  venturing  to  look  up— 

'The  purchase  would  be  easy  to  me,  as  I 
lately  inherited  a  small  legacy,  some  money 
I  was  charged  to  make  charitable  use  of.' 

The  marquis  making  no  answer,  she  continued, 
'  In  any  case  I  offer  a  thousand  apologies  for 
this  intrusion.  I  have  the  poor  child's  welfare 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  127 

at  heart.  The  city  has  many  temptations  for 
one  so  young  and  inexperienced ' — 

Whilst  Pernelle  grew  more  and  more 
expansive,  Velours  fell  back  upon  his  old 
cynicism.  He  longed  to  gratify  his  beautiful 
and  generous  visitor,  but  the  inborn  pride  of  race 
was  too  strong.  Nothing  in  the  world  would 
have  been  welcomer  than  a  handful  of  louis  d'or, 
the  very  notion  seemed  miraculous,  veritable 
interposition  of  Providence.  Yet  he  held  back. 
Thus  to  bare  his  poverty  to  the  world,  chaffer 
his  last  bit  of  land,  escheat  already  paid  for 
twice  over,  was  more  than  his  high  spirit  could 
bear.  A  flush  accompanied  the  apparently 
careless  speech. 

'  Sell  ? '  he  cried,  delighted  to  find  a  way  out 
of  his  dilemma.  '  If  the  States  General  perform 
half  that  is  expected  of  them,  a  few  months,  nay, 
weeks  hence,  the  word  will  have  no  meaning 
for  men  in  my  case.  Do  you  not  know  that 
the  old  state  of  things  is  to  be  abolished  ? 
Feudal  rights,  so  say  the  knowing,  are  to  go, 
and  with  them,  of  a  certainty,  many  wrongs, 
on  which  I  for  one  have  not  fattened — as  you 
perceive.' 

He  glanced  at  the  broken-down  magnificence 


128  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

around,  smiling  grimly.  Having  chosen  the 
dignified  part,  he  could  afford  to  laugh  openly 
at  ill  fortune.  This  prosperous,  engaging 
young  bourgeoise  might  think  what  she  pleased 
of  his  circumstances,  she  should  have  no  reason 
to  despise  himself. 

Pernelle,  reticule  on  arm — he  knew  so  well 
what  gave  it  weight  and  roundness — now  rose 
to  go. 

'  I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  receiving  me, 
Monsieur  le  Marquis,'  she  said,  venturing  upon 
no  further  allusion  to  the  land.  '  I  will  not 
detain  you  a  moment  longer.' 

'  You  will  perhaps  thank  me  for  refusing 
your  offer  before  the  year  is  out,'  he  replied 
in  the  same  half-serious,  half-bantering  tone. 
'  Why  pay  handsomely  to  -  day  for  what  may 
be  had  as  a  gift  to-morrow  ? ' 

She  looked  at  him  gravely.  How  much 
of  conviction  lay  under  this  jesting  mood  ? 
Decorum  forbade  the  question  she  would 
fain  have  put — Does  Monsieur  le  Marquis 
believe  in  government  by  a  free  parliament, 
equality  before  the  law,  rights  of  citizenship 
for  all  ? 

He  divined  her  thought. 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  129 

'  Permit  me  to  gather  you  a  few  roses ; 
in  the  meantime,  we  can  discuss  the  States 
General  and  the  millennium  our  representatives 
are  preparing  for  us,'  he  said. 

Throwing  wide  the  bay  window,  he  invited 
her  to  descend  the  steps  leading  to  the  garden, 
once  stately  pleasance,  designed  by  a  pupil  of 
the  famous  Lenotre,  now  a  mere  wilderness. 
The  marquis,  who  was  his  own  gardener, 
neglected  ornamental  borders  for  pot-herbs  and 
fruit  trees,  but  in  this  adorable  region,  flowers 
take  care  of  themselves.  As  the  town-bred  girl 
was  handed  down,  she  drew  deep  breaths  and 
uttered  little  cries  of  surprise  and  pleasure. 
The  whole  place  smelt  of  roses,  showed  a 
harvest  of  pink  and  carmine  bloom ;  whilst 
beyond,  harvest  even  more  luxuriant  and  no 
less  lovely,  were  the  apple  trees,  roseate  wave 
upon  wave  against  the  still  azure  heavens. 

That  handing  down,  the  courtly  grasp  of 
finger-tips,  the  careful  freeing  of  her  dainty 
skirts  from  straggling  briar,  formed  as  new  an 
experience  to  guest  as  host.  The  marquis 
could  not  remember  when  last  he  had  performed 
these  little  offices  for  a  lady.  Pernelle  had 
never  before  been  treated  after  such  fashion 
9 


130  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

by  grand  seigneur.  The  sense  of  novelty,  of 
a  certain  legitimate  precedent,  was  agreeable 
to  both.  In  the  presence  of  this  beautiful, 
intelligent,  dignified  girl,  Velours  forgot 
his  faded  brocade  and  worn  -  out  slippers. 
Pernelle,  for  her  part,  was  now  set  at  ease  by 
his  friendliness  and  geniality. 

'  You  are  doubtless  all  for  innovation,'  he 
began,  smiling  archly,  as  with  pocket-knife  he 
lopped  the  finest  roses.  '  Women  are  ever  the 
first  in  movements  of  this  kind,  and  I  daresay  ' 
— here  he  paused  for  a  moment,  apparently 
weighing  his  words.  '  I  hear  that  young  ladies 
nowadays  read  Montesquieu  and  Rousseau ; 
you,  living  in  a  city,  being  your  own  mistress, 
engaged  in  the  serious  business  of  life,  may 
be  of  the  number.  If  so,  your  mind  is  made 
up.' 

'  Can  even  the  unlettered,  the  most  ignorant, 
help  hoping,  believing  in  the  States  General  ? ' 
she  cried  passionately.  'Think  of  the  wretched- 
ness around  us,  the  oppression  of  the  people, 
the  barbarity  of  our  laws ! ' 

Velours,  singling  out  one  rose  more  beautiful 
than  the  rest,  clipping  off  thorns,  now  offered 
it,  unceremoniously,  engagingly,  as  he  might 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  131 

have  done  to  a  child.  The  demarcation  of 
rank  made  such  attentions  easy.  Pernelle 
thanked  him  in  matter-of-fact  tones,  although 
with  evident  surprise  and  a  slight  blush. 

'  Hoping,  yes — believing,  no,'  he  replied. 
'  Mind,  I  am  no  enemy  of  free  parliaments  or 
of  new  systems.  What  have  I,  what  have 
most  of  us  to  lose  ?  But  France — I  speak  of 
our  country  as  no  configuration  on  the  map, 
but  as  a  body  politic — France,  I  say,  is  rotten 
to  the  core.  Of  little  good  to  hack  and  hew 
branches  when  the  trunk  is  tottering  and 

o 

unsound  ;  down  it  must  come,  root  and  stem, 
not  a  fibre  left  in  the  ground.  This  wholesome 
process  applied  to  a  nation — eh  ?  Have  you 
thought  of  the  consequences  ?  ' 

'  There  must  be  sacrifice,  of  course,  sacrifice 
and  suffering,'  Pernelle  answered.  '  In  the 
end,  we  should  surely  gain.' 

'  If  we  could  count  upon  living  at  least  a 
hundred  years.  Do  trees  attain  maturity  in 
a  day  ?  The  growth  of  a  political  system,  the 
regeneration  of  a  country,  require  generations, 
cycles.  And  meantime  ' — 

He  was  tying  the  rest  of  her  roses  together 
as  he  spoke,  and  paused  between  each  sen- 


132  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

tence,  adjusting  this  or  that  particular  bloom 
to  his  fancy. 

'  Meantime,  it  is  as  well  to  prepare  oneself 
for  the  universal  deluge,  careless  whether  we 
sink  or  swim.  You,  I  feel  sure,  await  the  issue 
with  a  courageous  heart/ 

Pernelle  could  not  explain  it,  but  this  mingled 
pleasantry  and  foreboding  saddened  her  far  more 
than  her  uncle's  sombre  predictions. 

'  I  hope  I  shall  do  my  duty,'  she  said,  turning 
to  go. 

The  marquis  gave  her  his  arm,  making  his 
adieux  bareheaded  as  to  a  great  lady. 

'On  my  word,'  he  mused,  when  the  caleche 
had  moved  off,  '  I  should  like  nothing  better 
than  to  turn  mercer  and  help  that  adorable 
girl  with  her  needles  and  pins.  We  nobles 
despise  an  existence  devoted  to  buying  and 
selling — is  it  not  a  thousand  times  more 
dignified  than  fattening  —  or  starving  —  upon 
privilege  ? ' 

'We  bourgeois  accuse  the  aristocracy  of 
selfishness,  parasitism,  exclusiveness — have  not 
the  seigneurs  been  victimised  as  much  as  the 
poor,  rendered  odious  by  circumstances  for 
which  they  are  not  responsible,  degraded 


MARQUIS  AND  MILLINER  133 

by  a   condition    forced    upon    them  ? '   thought 
Pernelle. 

She  drove  home  very  sorrowfully,  for  the 
moment  Finette  and  Laurent  forgotten,  her 
mind  occupied  with  new  problems.  That  visit 
to  the  chateau  had  been  a  revelation. 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE    TEMPTATION 

HOMELESS  in  the  rigid  sense  of  the  word, 
Fortune  yet  possessed  coverts  numerous  and 
inaccessible  as  those  of  his  four-footed  namesake. 
So  long  as  snow  lay  deep,  some  comrade 
harboured  him,  charcoal-burner,  bargeman,  or 
quarrier.  Here  to-day,  off  and  away  to-morrow, 
the  poacher  and  smuggler  was  no  more  to  be 
caught  than  Will  o'  the  Wisp  or  Jack  o' 
Lantern.  Whilst  gamekeeper,  exciseman,  or 
soldier  were  on  his  track,  he  remained  invisible. 
During  the  long  Burgundian  summer,  he  was 
independent  of  hospitality — sheltering  woods, 
wide  heavens,  the  very  universe,  seemed  his 
own. 

Next  morning  he  set  off  for  one  of  these 
haunts,  and  who  would  not  have  envied  his 
glorious  tramp  ?  High  above,  proudly  and 
sonorously  as  if  deputed  herald  of  flowers  and 


THE  TEMPTATION  135 

sunshine,  flitted  the  hoopoe,  its  crest  flashing  as 
a  trail  of  fire,  its  note  penetrating  forest  depths 
and  echoing  through  open  valley.  In  the  close- 
set  coppice  woods,  homelier  birds  welcomed  the 
May,  May  none  the  less  because  the  times  were 
evil ! 

Forty ne  knew  what  paths  were  safe  and  how 
to  find  his  own.  Noting  signs  as  he  went,  he 
at  last  reached  his  destination,  a  few  square 
feet  of  open  turf  amid  tangled  brushwood  and 
lofty  forest  trees.  Having  peered,  listened,  and 
assured  himself  past  question  that  the  place  was 
inviolate,  untrodden  by  other  footsteps,  he 
divested  himself  of  wallet  and  coat,  and  crept 
forward  on  hands  and  knees  ;  under  one  tree 
higher  than  the  rest,  a  tuft  of  grass  that  he  knew 
yielded  to  his  touch.  Chuckling  joyfully,  he 
dug  with  his  fingers  into  the  loosened  earth,  and 
drew  forth  a  coarse  homeknit  stocking  full  of 
gold  pieces. 

'  Finette's  dowry  safe  and  sound.  That 
comes  of  praying  night  and  day  to  the  Virgin,' 
he  murmured  as  he  crawled  back. 

Squatted  on  the  grass,  he  counted  and 
recounted  the  louis  d'or,  first  placing  them  in 
rows,  next  in  little  piles,  his  eyes  kindling, 


136  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

yearning,  hungering  as  he  gazed.  At  one 
moment  they  glistened  with  joy,  the  next  they 
moistened  with  tears  of  despair.  '  I  was  right 
last  night.  Did  justice  exist  for  the  poor  in 
France,  Huguette's  tiny  bit  of  land  and  cabin 
would  have  been  Finette's,  the  good  grandame 
could  have  willed  them  as  she  pleased  ;  and,  who 
knows,  I  might  then  have  come  in  for  a  coin  or 
two  ?  To  think  that  only  rich  folks  can  will 
away  their  own,  that  the  substance  of  all  who 
have  no  children  goes  to  the  seigneur  !  Ah, 
Madam  Law,  as  I  said  last  night,  it  is  you  who 
are  at  the  bottom  of  the  mischief!  Would  I 
could  throttle  you,  vixen,  strumpet,  hussy  that 
you  are,  repay  your  stripes  and  bruises  in 
kind ! ' 

More  and  more  wistfully  he  eyed  the  glitter- 
ing temptations,  more  and  more  bitter  grew  his 
mood. 

'  Of  what  use  to  begrudge  poor  little  Finette 
the  money  ?  I  cannot  for  the  life  of  me  steal 
from  her,  yet  one  piece  or  two  might  have 
made  Fortune  an  honest  man !  A  louis  d'or, 
twenty-four  livres,  would  furnish  a  pedlar's 
pack  twice  over.  I  have  a  sharp  voice  and 
ready  tongue.  I  could  draw  folk's  money  out 


TEE  TEMPTATION  137 

of  their  pockets,  I  know,  and  in  country  places 
the  damsels  have  ever  a  few  sous  to  spend  on 
ribbon.  Money  makes  money.  Pedlars  even 
grow  rich — but  I  cannot  steal  from  Finette.' 

Very  reluctantly  he  put  back  the  golden 
crowns — was  it  designedly  or  by  accident? — 
leaving  out  first  one,  then  two.  With  these  he 
toyed,  now  he  played  at  pitch  and  toss,  next  he 
made  marbles  of  them,  finally,  one  was  put 
back  and  one  retained. 

'  What  a  joke ! '  he  said  to  himself,  as  he 
grew  more  cheerful.  'No  one,  not  even  the 
neighbours,  suspected  Huguette  of  having  a 
halfpenny !  Yet  by  toiling  and  moiling,  by 
going  naked  and  hungry,  she  contrived  to  save 
for  this  fosterling  and  cheat  the  tax-gatherer! 
Humph  !  What  would  my  gentleman  say  at 
sight  of  yonder  stocking  ? ' 

The  singled-out  piece  seemed  to  have  more 
fascination  for  his  own  eyes.  As  he  gazed,  a 
new  light  evidently  broke  on  his  mind. 

'Services  of  mine  Huguette  requited  by  bite 
and  sup,  shelter  and  hearth  work.  Yet  she 
must  have  wished  me  to  repay  myself  for  the 
last.  The  coffin  now — when  do  poor  folks  get 
coffined  at  all  ?  They  just  go  to  the  cold  earth 


138  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

in  decent    shirt  or  shift.      But   Huguette  ever 
looked  high  ;    I  felt  that  I  was  humouring  her.' 

Fortune  had  never  heard  of  the  famous 
scholastic  dictum,  that  no  proposition  be 
accepted  until  seventy  arguments  are  brought 
forward  in  its  favour.  Nevertheless,  he  behaved 
after  the  manner  of  dialecticians,  piling  evidence 
upon  evidence  in  support  of  his  theory. 

'  The  hammering  together  of  a  few  pieces  of 
board,  and  for  such  a  purpose — what  am  I  think- 
ing of?  Better  go  unpaid  till  the  Judgment 
Day  than  take  churchyard  wages  of  a  neighbour. 
But,  now  I  think  of  it,  Huguette  did  owe  me  a 
livre  or  two.  The  good  soul  never  paid,  that  I 
can  swear,  for  the  last  flagon  of  oil  I  procured 
her ;  and  there  was  a  bag  of  salt,  a  rabbit — stolen 
goods,  it  is  true,  but  anybody's  life  is  surely 
worth  a  louis  d'or ;  who  would  brave  the  pillory, 
the  whipping-post,  the  gibbet,  for  less  ?  And 
again,  well  for  you,  good  mother,  that  I  could 
not  cast  up  with  pen  and  paper  !  Who  else 
fetched  water  for  you  last  winter,  when  the  ponds 
were  frozen  from  December  to  March  ?  Then 
your  physic,  your  ointments  and  purgations- 
was  it  not  Fortune  who  always  doctored  you 
and  your  cow,  bringing  myrobalan  and  St. 


THE  TEMPTATION  139 

Cunigunde's  herb  to  cleanse  the  blood,  hyssop 
for  stomach  pains,  mallows  for  winter  coughs, 
dittany  to  sweat  away  fevers.  But  I  must  leave 
off,  or  I  shall  feel  that  poor  little  Finette's  dowry 
belongs  to  me.  I  thank  you  kindly  for  the 
louis  d'or,  Huguette.  It  is  not  Fortune  who 
will  forget  your  soul  in  purgatory.' 

The  shining  treasure  was  no  sooner  put  away 
than  he  started  up.  As  ejected  poison,  he  now 
thrust  aside  the  money. 

'  Spawn  of  Satan,  devil's  brood  ! '  he  cried, 
uttering  a  dozen  execrations  in  a  breath.  '  Is  it 
thus  a  poor  man's  soul  is  snared  by  the  evil 
one?' 

Falling  on  his  knees,  exorcising  the  tempter 
with  a  prayer,  he  next  turned  to  his  birds. 

His  love  of  linnets  and  robins  was  as  the  love 
of  children  to  happier  mortals.  Driven  by 
hunger,  it  must  also  be  admitted  by  taste,  to 
trap  wild  boar,  forest  deer,  and  smaller  game, 
he  ever  spared  these  companions  of  his  solitude, 
digging  little  reservoirs  for  their  use  in  dry 
seasons,  planting  the  wild  cherry,  enticing  them 
to  good  fellowship  by  various  devices. 

He  now  imitated  first  one  note,  then  another, 
each  call  bringing  a  flutter  of  wings  and  peering 


140  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

heads.  Soon  the  bower  was  animated  with 
timid,  inquisitive  twitterings,  each  intruder 
apparently  taking  counsel  of  his  neighbour. 

Prince  of  woodland,  the  outcast  was  now 
revenged  of  society.  Who  in  those  days  of 
heaviness  and  apprehension  would  not  have 
envied  such  a  realm,  subjects  so  artless,  scenes 
so  peaceful  ?  Through  the  gently  swayed 
boughs  showed  the  warm  heavens,  tablets  of 
blue  enamel,  as  the  sun  mounted,  the  upper 
leafage  borrowing  the  brightness  of  gold.  No 
one  molested  him  here,  no  one  questioned  his 
right  of  sovereignty.  Only  the  curious  little 
birds  fetched  comrades,  each  saying  to  the  other 
plainly  as  voices  could  speak,  '  Who  may  this 
be  ?  '  A  few  crumbs,  a  reiterated  invitation, 
and  the  chattering  company  became  at  home. 

Having  thus  amused  himself,  he  lighted  a 
few  chips  and  cooked  his  breakfast,  next 
arranged  bedstead  of  branches,  mattress  of 
moss  and  fern,  overhead  roof  of  thickly 
pleached  boughs,  and  drowsed  and  dawdled 
away  the  hours  with  the  patience  of  an  old 
prisoner.  Twilight  saw  him  once  more  on  the 
march.  His  heart  was  light,  no  bit  of  gold 
had  been  left  behind. 


THE  TEMPTATION  141 

When,  towards  nightfall,  he  came  within  sight 
of  St.  Bernard's  birthplace,  he  found  the  place 
lighted  up  as  for  carnival.  Arrived  midway 
between  road  and  hill-top,  sounds  of  noisy 
mirth  reached  his  ears.  Folks  were  evidently 
singing  and  dancing  round  a  bonfire.  The 
open  space  here,  bordered  with  trees,  served 
alike  for  fairs,  markets,  religious  processions, 
and  homely  festivals.  His  neighbours  then 
were  feting  the  States  General,  contributing 
their  part  to  the  universal  celebration  ? 

Fortune*  relished  a  gala  day  as  well  as  any, 
but  he  felt  the  necessity  of  precaution.  With 
Finette's  little  dowry  fastened  to  his  belt,  he 
was  less  disposed  for  prison  than  ever.  The 
glimpse,  therefore,  of  a  vast  and  very  mixed 
company  put  him  on  the  alert.  Watchmen, 
patrol,  officers  of  the  excise  were  men  with  the 
rest,  as  ready,  when  off  duty,  for  a  drinking 
bout,  or  round  with  neat-footed  damsels.  But 
their  eyes  would  be  on  him  all  the  same.  In 
order  to  make  assurance  doubly  sure,  no  sooner 
had  he  reached  the  outer  trees,  than,  nimbly 
as  a  squirrel,  he  was  off  the  ground  and  lost 
to  sight  amid  the  boughs  of  the  first  that  came 
handy. 


142  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

To  his  astonishment,  and,  at  first,  dismay, 
one  of  the  supposed  branches  laid  hold  of 
resented  the  intrusion,  and  quickly  shifted 
place.  He  was  not  alone  even  here ;  some 
other  luckless  wight  had  taken  refuge  before 
him. 

There  could  be  no  mistake,  nothing  is  easier 
than  to  distinguish  a  man's  stout  ankle  from  an 
inanimate  bough ;  moreover,  the  quick  move- 
ment spoke  for  itself. 

'  Well,'  reasoned  the  new-comer,  '  friend  or 
foe,  I  have  the  better  of  him.  He  cannot  get 
down  without  disturbing  me ;  but  whew  !  I  can 
be  off  and  half-way  down  the  hill  ere  his  own 
feet  touch  the  ground.' 

Squat  as  mice  the  pair  kept  their  places, 
Fortune  making  the  best  of  his  position,  on 
the  alert  for  the  least  sign.  After  a  little  his 
fellow-captive's  silence  and  rigidity  reassured 
him ;  he  now  began  to  peer,  listen,  and  indeed 
quite  enjoy  himself. 

The  scene  below  was  one  of  extraordinary 
animation.  A  tent  had  been  erected  for 
the  sale  of  coarse  gingerbread  and  syrups. 
Lanterns  were  hung  here  and  there.  In  work- 
ing dress,  unaccompanied  except  by  their  own 


THE  TEMPTATION  143 

voices,  old  and  young  now  joined  hands  in 
Provencal,  or  the  round  farandole. 

Homely  although  these  revels,  they  outdid 
many  a  princely  festival.  Thrice  happy  folks 
that  could  thus  dance  amid  sordid  care  and 
leaden  gloom ! 

The  joyous  band  did  not  consist  of  swains 
and  sweethearts  only.  Alike  white-haired 
patriarch  and  toothless  grandame  footed  it 
merrily,  keeping  time  with  the  youngest. 
Many,  indeed  most,  had  risen  with  the  sun, 
bodily  weariness  was  forgotten,  home-made 
liqueurs,  plentifully  diluted  in  water,  and  drunk 
out  of  coarse  earthen  mugs,  acted  as  a  stimulant, 
cakes  of  honey  and  buckwheat  flour  constituted 
a  feast.  As  night  wore  on,  spirits  rose,  voices 
grew  higher,  laughter  more  hilarious. 

Fortune's  ears  soon  told  him  that  recent 
events  had  lent  a  new  character  to  this  rustic 
merrymaking.  Instead  of  the  usual  refrain, 
folks  were  singing  one  new  roundelay  after 
another  —  doggerel,  apparently  inspired  by 
Huguette'.s  dying  words,  and  the  petitions  sent 
up  to  the  States  General. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE    CARNIVAL    OF   THE    CAHIERS 

So  it  was,  indeed,  although  the  exuberant 
mirth  and  warm  reception  of  each  ditty  sug- 
gested benefits  rather  than  wrongs,  privilege 
rather  than  injustice,  as  the  burden  of  their 
song.  These  ready-witted  peasants  had  not 
lived  for  the  last  few  months  in  vain.  Under 
the  self -same  trees,  the  entire  community 
had  lately  deliberated  on  the  cahiers,  or  peti- 
tions, at  that  time  being  drawn  up  by  every 
town  and  village  throughout  France.  One 
white  -  haired  veteran  had  meekly  suggested 
that  the  peasant  should  be  allowed  to  sow  his 
corn  without  awaiting  seigneurial  permission. 
A  second  honest  carle  as  timidly,  perhaps  hope- 
lessly, put  forward  the  proposition  that  every 
farmer  might  be  his  own  miller,  instead  of 
being  obliged  to  patronise  the  seigneurial  mill. 
A  third  speaker,  bold  Jeanne,  Fortune's  visitor 

144 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF  THE  CAHIERS  145 

of  yesterday,  declared  that  if  the  States  General 
would  allow  poor  folks  to  have  their  own  bake- 
oven,  for  her  part  she  should  feel  satisfied.  A 
fourth  pleaded  for  free  roads,  rivers,  and 
markets,  abolition  of  tollbars  and  bridges. 
'Why,'  quoth  the  speaker,  'before  I  get  my 
corn  or  pigs  even  to  Is-sur-Tille  or  Auxonne, 
I  have  paid  a  score  of  such  dues,  they  have 
eaten  off  their  heads  ! '  And,  of  course,  one  and 
all  joined  in  the  hue  and  cry  against  faille  and 
coru^e,  arbitrary  taxation  in  general,  the  hydra- 
headed  feudal  system,  that  made  men  little 
better  than  slaves. 

Now  Fortune  heard  the  following — 

'  Sow,  sow,  sow,  fatten  the  harvest  field, 
Ours  to  toil  and  moil,  but  ours  henceforth  the  yield  ! ' 

And  now  this— 

'Grind,  grind,  grind,  millstone  belongs  to  me, 
No  seigneur's  time  to  bide,  no  seigneur's  dole  as  fee  ! ' 

A    third   strophe   received   even    louder   ac- 
clamation— 

'  Knead,  knead,  knead,  bundle  the  faggots  in, 
Taxed  no  more  the  flames,  taxed  no  more  the  bin  ! ' 

With    increasing    fervour    the    fourth    was 
caught  up — 


146  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  Pack,  pack,  pack,  to  market  off  and  away, 
Roads  and  rivers  free,  not  a  single  toll  to  pay  ! ' 

Popular  enthusiasm  reached  its  height  when 
a  quatrain  was  given  out  summing  up  the  rest— 

'  Sing,  sing,  sing,  gone  the  tyrant's  day  ; 
Frenchmen  will  be  free,  none  shall  say  them  nay  ! 
Dance,  dance,  dance,  light  of  heart  and  toe ; 
Good  times  approach  faster  than  we  go  ! ' 

The  singing  and  dancing  now  became  almost 
frenzied.  Hand  in  hand,  the  homely  Bac- 
chanals whirled  in  widened  circle  around  the 
bonfire,  its  flames  lighting  up  kindled  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks.  There  was  no  coquetry,  or 
what  passes  by  the  name,  among  the  young 
men  and  maidens ;  kiss,  hand-clasp,  embrace, 
to-night  meant  something  deeper,  more  mag- 
nanimous than  courtship,  and  were  shared  by 
all,  warm  tears  relieving  overbrimming  hearts. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  Fortune 
heard  a  timid,  familiar  voice  underneath  his 
airy  perch. 

'  Oh,  Laurent,  how  you,  startled  me ! '  cried 
Finette.  '  I  had  just  come  with  Douce,  the 
neighbour  who  has  been  keeping  me  company, 
to  see  the  bonfire  and  the  dancing.  But  first 
tell  me,  what  are  the  folks  so  pleased  about  ? ' 


147 


A  man's  voice,  youthful,  troubled,  but 
decided,  made  reply  ;  that  also  Fortune  recog- 
nised. 

'  The  minx  has  a  lover,  eh  ?  and,  as  I  live, 
young  Mariol  the  Huguenot!'  said  Fortune 
to  himself.  '  He  has  turned  her  heretic  into 
the  bargain,  I'll  be  bound.  All  the  more 
reason  why  I  look  to  her  gold  pieces ! ' 

Laurent  showed  loverlike  readiness  for  im- 
personal talk.  Finette's  question  indeed  came 
as  a  relief.  He  laughed  a  little  contemptuously. 
The  whole  business,  States  General,  cahiers, 
and  rejoicing,  seemed  a  farce,  just  then,  to  this 
sceptic  of  twenty-two. 

'  You  remember  what  I  told  you  about  the 
free  assembly  summoned  in  Paris,  and  the 
petitions  for  new  laws  sent  up  by  the  provinces. 
These  poor  souls  imagine  they  are  going  to 
get  everything  they  have  asked  for — one  law, 
one  taxation  for  poor  and  rich,  and,  to  sum  up, 
liberty  for  all  to  think  as  they  please.  They 
had  better  ask  for  the  moon  and  have  done 
with  it ! ' 

Artless  little  Finette  pondered.  These 
problems  seemed  utterly  beyond  her. 

'  What  was  the  show  like  at   Dijon  ? '    she 


148  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

asked,     adding     timorously,     '  And    what    did 
Pernelle  say  ? ' 

Before  Laurent  could  get  out  the  two  or 
three  cruel  words  revealing  all,  a  sudden  uproar 
diverted  their  thoughts.  Some  reveller,  less 
excited  and  keener  of  vision  than  the  rest,  had 
caught  inkling  of  the  captives,  Fortune  squatted 
below  the  parting  branches,  the  other  higher 
up,  flattened  at  full  length  on  the  trunk, 
holding  fast  as  best  he  could  with  both  arms. 

o 

'  A  crow,  a  crow  ! '  cried  the  espier  triumph- 
antly. 

'  A  crow,  a  crow ! '  shouted  his  companions. 
Quick  as  lightning  the  ring  was  broken  up,  one 
dancer  seized  a  lantern,  another  a  torch  ;  in  the 
twanging  of  an  arrow,  the  tree  was  surrounded, 

Fortune  seized  the  stout  ankle  overhead, 
muttering  good-natured  imprecations.  '  Dolt 
of  a  mother's  son  that  you  are,  cannot  you 
hitch  an  inch  or  two  ? '  he  cried ;  not  that  he 
feared  his  neighbours,  but  supposing  an  enemy 
happened  to  be  among  them !  He  was  ever 
unfortunately  wanted  by  emissary  of  one  law 
or  another,  royal,  seigneurial,  municipal.  What 
if  he  were  dragged  to  prison  now,  Finette's 
dowry  taken  from  him  ? 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF  THE  CAHIEPR  140 

'  For  mercy's  sake,  give  me  a  heave  forward,' 
answered  a  doleful  voice,  'and  just  free  my 
soutane.' 

Fortune  obeyed,  now  chuckling  as  he  recog- 
nised in  the  speaker  Father  Albin.  The  worthy 
curb's  errand  was  harmless  enough.  He  could 
not  show  himself  upon  such  an  occasion,  but 
it  was  really  his  duty  to  see  what  went  on ;  he 
must,  however,  on  no  account  be  discovered. 
The  village  folks  might  resent  such  espionage  ; 
and,  who  could  tell  ?  men's  spirits  were  in  a 
ferment,  hard  things  about  the  clergy,  their 
wealth,  their  privileges,  were  passing  from 
hand  to  mouth ;  it  behoved  the  humblest 
ecclesiastic  to  be  prudent. 

'  Up  you  go,  reverend  father,'  whispered 
Fortune",  with  a  lusty  push.  'After  all,'  he 
mused,  'priests  are  men,  why  should  not 
they  join  in  a  little  harmless  amusement  ?  A 
lass's  ankle  now — can  the  sight  of  that  be 
sinful?' 

Derisive  shouts,  loud  guffaws,  rough  pleas- 
antries, betokened  recognition  on  the  part  of 
the  dancers. 

'  What !  were  we  to  have  an  extra  sermon  ? ' 
shouted  one  more  venturesome  than  the  rest. 


150  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

1  Come,  Monsieur  le  Cure",  for  once  let  us  teach 
you  a  song  instead  ! ' 

'  And  you,  old  foxy ! '  exclaimed  a  second, 
'  why  on  earth  should  you  take  to  the  tree  ?  you 
are  among  friends.' 

'  Down  with  you  both ! '  put  in  a  girl,  em- 
boldened by  example.  '  Foot  a  measure,  join 
in  a  ditty  with  us.' 

The  warmer  the  invitation,  the  faster  both 
stuck  to  their  places. 

'  Another  hitch,  my  good  Fortune ;  I  won't 
forget  this  good  turn,'  whispered  the  poor 
priest.  '  Ah,  some  one  throws  missiles  ! ' 

Only  a  woman's  kerchief  was  tossed  up  by 
way  of  challenging  to  the  dance,  but  soon 
followed  sand,  leaves,  twigs,  anything  folks  could 
lay  hands  on.  All  were  in  teasing,  pranksome 
humour ;  the  very  notion  of  inspiring  terror 
made  them  doubly  mischievous.  Two  or  three 
athletes  now  spanned  the  tree. 

1  We'll  shake  off  the  fruit !  look  out  for  wind- 
falls, youngsters ! '  shouted  a  brawny  charcoal- 
burner.  He  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of 
harming  any  one,  but  the  situation  was  irresist- 
ible. No  example  is  more  contagious  than  that 
of  merrymaking  at  another's  expense.  Sticks 


THE  dARNIVAL  OF  THE  OAHIER8  151 

soon  rustled  amid  the  branches,  pebbles  hurtled 
against  the  bark,  surrender  seemed  imminent. 

Fortune  trembled  for  his  louis-d'or  ;  any 
bush,  any  tree  might  conceal  an  enemy.  The 
worthy  priest  trembled  for  his  parishioners  no 
less  than  for  himself.  A  week,  a  day,  and  every- 
thing was  changed  throughout  France.  Why, 
oh,  why  had  he  chosen  to-night  for  such  espials  ? 
What  if  the  poor  people  were  tempted  to 
roughness,  perhaps  led  into  crime,  by  their  own 
confessor  and  spiritual  father  ? 

'  Look  you,  my  excellent  Fortune",'  he 
whispered,  '  you  are  one  of  them  ;  slip  down, 
speak  to  the  neighbours,  parley,  engage  their 
attention,  and  meantime  I  will  make  good  my 
escape.' 

Fortune"  murmured  assent,  but  did  not  stir. 
The  cunning  fellow  had  discovered  a  cavity  in 
the  trunk ;  feeling  about  with  his  hand,  assuring 
himself  of  its  security,  .he  unloosed  his  money 
bag  and  let  the  treasure  fall. 

'  Come,  neighbours,'  he  cried,  now  slipping 
down.  '  It  was  a  pulpit  I  had  chosen  here,  I 
wanted  to  preach.  Now,  listen,  listen  to 
words  from  the  grave.  Seize  your  oppor- 
tunity, reverend  father,'  he  added  in  an  under- 


152  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

tone,  then  once  more  raising  his  voice,  shouted 
to  the  dancers,  '  Huguette,  the  wise  woman, 
the  prophetess,  this  is  what  she  said  - 

Small  and  slight  as  he  was,  Fortune" 
possessed  a  voice  of  extraordinary  power,  not 
full  and  deep,  but  shrill  and  piercing.  The 
pompousness  and  solemnity  he  now  put  on 
struck  his  listeners  ;  for  a  moment  all  forgot  his 
companion  aloft,  attention  became  centred  on 
the  speaker,  the  most  turbulent  stood  stock 
still. 

'  Huguette  was  near  the  tomb  as  I  am  to 
you,'  he  went  on;  'death  had  hold  of  her  with 
his  ice-cold  fingers — (do  be  quick,  reverend 
father,  I  can't  go  on  speechifying  for  ever)' — the 
last  sentence  was  whispered  to  the  poor  priest, 
who,  with  soutane  entangled,  still  scrambled 
overhead — 'and  this  is  what  she  said,  neigh- 

o 

bours :  "Whilst  I  lay  here  quiet  as  a  babe, 
Fortune",  I  have  had  visions,  not  heavenly 
ones,  but  earthly.  I  beheld  just  now,  I  behold 
it  still,  another  kind  of  world,  in  which  the 
peasants  toil  and  moil,  become  fathers  and 
mothers  without  cursing."  (Now's  your  time, 
Monsieur  le  Cure",  slip  away.)  "  Horror  and 
darkness  are  upon  the  land,"  said  Huguette, 


THE  CARNIVAL  OF  THE  OAHIERS  153 

"  but  following  after,  days  such  as  the  like  of  us 
have  never  seen  " 

Just  then,  as  he  slowly  rolled  out  the  words, 
some  village  wag  caught  sight  of  the  retreating 
figure  behind.  His  dash  forward  and  up- 
roarious halloo  broke  the  spell.  Folks  were 
more  inclined  for  mirth  than  solemnity.  With 
torn  garments,  scratched  face,  and  rueful  look, 
Father  Albin  was  brought  back.  Jeanne  laid 
hold  of  one  hand,  her  neighbour  Douce  of  the 
other ;  despite  his  remonstrances,  he  must 
caracole  with  the  rest. 

'  Instead  of  listening  to  a  sermon,  we'll  teach 
you  a  song,  no  offence,  reverend  father,'  cried 
the  hard  -  headed,  plodding,  reputed  money- 
grubbing  Jean — he  seemed  a  different  being  to- 
night. Room  was  made  for  Fortune",  his  mind 
now  set  at  ease  as  to  gendarmes  and  excisemen. 
Once  more  the  round  was  formed.  Higher  and 
higher  blazed  the  bonfire,  farther  and  farther 
echoed  the  song— 

'  Sing,  sing,  sing,  gone  the  tyrant's  day  ; 
Frenchmen  will  be  free,  none  shall  say  them  nay ! 
Dance,  dance,  dance,  light  of  heart  and  toe  ; 
Good  times  come  on,  faster  than  we  go.' 

Few  present  perhaps    deemed   the  quatrain 


154  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


a  prophecy.  None,  certes,  guessed  that  they 
were  singing  away  the  old  France,  acclaiming 
the  new.  Vague  hopes  animated  every  heart, 
limited  aspirations  filled  every  breast.  The 
most  enthusiastic  could  not  realise  that  an 
apocalypse  of  liberty  was  at  hand,  changes 
unparalleled  in  legend  or  history. 

Song  and  dance  in  France  have  ever  been 
adored  by  young  and  old,  the  fondlings  and  the 
stepchildren  of  fortune.  Other  passions  may 
be  skin  deep,  this  most  innocent  one  is  imbibed 
with  mother's  milk,  becomes  as  the  marrow  of 
French  bones. 

And  to-day  even  more  readily,  crushing  toil 
and  merciless  oppression  were  forgotten,  piled- 
up,  unmerited  ills  were  lost  sight  of,  even  the 
words  folks  sang  became  meaningless.  The 
zest  of  a  song  consisted  in  the  singing. 

Oh,  enviable,  unmatchable  French  light- 
heartedness,  all  the  more  precious  because 
innate  as  perfume  to  the  flower,  hue  to  the 
butterfly,  trill  to  the  bird !  Pandora's  gift,  a 
thousandfold  compensating  for  the  poured-out 
vials  of  misfortune — how  little  do  we  guess 
what  France,  what  all  humanity,  owes  her 
spontaneous,  perpetual  smile ! 


CHAPTER  XIII 

UNDER    THE    ELMS    OF    SULLY 

HERE  and  there,  the  traveller  on  French  soil 
comes  upon  a  group  of  noble  elms  known  as 
'The  Elms  of  Sully.'  These  venerable  groves 
do  indeed  owe  their  origin  to  the  great  minister 
of  the  Great  King.  True  to  his  maxim,  tillage 
and  pasturage  are  the  udders  of  France,  whilst 
neglecting  nothing  that  could  advance  either, 
Sully  bethought  himself  of  the  beautiful.  Em- 
bellishing the  landscape,  affording  grateful 
shadow,  the  groves  of  the  illustrious  Huguenot 
have  been  alternately  dedicated  to  romance, 
festival,  and  religion.  Now  lovers'  vows  would 
be  exchanged  and  village  holiday  kept  under 
the  widespread  ing  branches ;  and  now,  with 
peculiar  appropriateness,  a  little  Protestant 
flock  would  there  meet  in  worship.  Two  years 
before  the  summoning  of  the  States  General, 
one  atrocious  clause  of  the  Revocation  had 


156  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

yielded  to  public  opinion.  Laurent  was  no 
longer  illegitimate  in  the  eyes  of  the  law ;  so 
far  a  citizen,  he  could  now  be  legally  married, 
become  the  father  of  legally  begotten  children. 
There  concession  ended.  He  must  still  meet 
his  brethren,  sing  psalms,  hear  expositions 
of  Scripture,  under  the  Elms  of  Sully,  by  the 
wayside,  where  he  could.  The  rebuilding- 
of  demolished  churches,  the  right  of  public 
worship,  were  rigidly  forbidden.  Boldly  con- 
fronting their  persecutors,  the  so-called  heretics 
had  ever  showed  timidity  towards  friends  and 
kindred.  Why  needlessly  wring  fond  hearts, 
trouble  pious  minds,  last  but  not  least,  shock 
inrooted  prejudices,  sin  against  accepted 
standards  ? 

Thus  it  happened  that,  although  openly 
avowing  the  paternal  creed,  Laurent  had 
always  been  reticent  in  the  matter  of  religious 
observances,  with  his  brethren  unobtrusively 
accepting  each  new  privilege.  But  the  air  was 
now  full  of  compromise,  every  hour  seemed 
portentous  of  change,  one  precedent  quickly 
followed  another.  Timid  folks  grew  daring, 
brow-beaters  of  yesterday  meek  as  lambs. 

On   the  first  Sunday  following  the  passage 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  157 

of  the  deputies,  the  country  -  people  here- 
abouts witnessed  a  strange  spectacle,  their 
presence  being  stranger  far.  For  the  first  time 
since  the  Revocation — doom  of  France — a  great 
muster  of  Protestants  was  announced  between 
Dijon  and  Is-sur-Tille,  the  rendezvous  being 
a  grove  of  elms  known  as  the  Elms  of  Sully. 
No  spot  could  have  been  more  aptly  or  better 
chosen.  The  trees  crown  a  wide,  stony, 
wind-swept  plateau  several  hundred  feet  above 
the  level  of  the  sea,  and  commanding  a  vast 
perspective,  fit  emblem  of  spiritual  freedom. 
Immediately  below  lay  the  ancient  hamlet  of 
Gemeaux,  only  its  spire  visible  above  the 
jagged  edges  of  the  little  promontory ;  farther 
in  the  same  direction  stretched  the  Golden 
Hills,  mere  pencillings  of  purple  against  the 
pale  blue  sky  ;  whilst  northward,  dark  masses 
against  the  delicate  green  of  young  corn  in- 
dicated the  vast  forest,  long-lapsed  fief  of  the 
marquisate  of  Velours. 

Two  or  three  years  earlier  such  a  gathering 
would  have  been  punishable  by  fines,  the 
executioner's  whip,  fetters,  and  even  mutilation. 
It  was  still  deemed  prudent  to  avoid  symbol 
and  parade.  No  rudely  improvised  altar 


158  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

suggested  the  sacramental  feast,  no  wooden 
bench  did  duty  for  pulpit  Only  nature  con- 
secrated the  temple,  chequered  sunshine  amid 
green  leaves  replacing  gorgeous  ogive  ;  instead 
of  flute  and  psaltery,  the  soft  breezes  of  summer  ; 
whilst  around,  no  sculptured  saints  and  apostles 
incited  to  prayer,  but,  hardly  less  worthy  of  such 
office,  stood  the  veteran  trees  that  had  rejoiced 
and  sheltered  generations. 

Along  the  hot  dusty  road  trudged  Laurent 
and  Finette.  To-day  for  the  first  time  they  were 
to  worship  side  by  side,  drink  together  out  of 
the  sacred  chalice,  and  partake  of  consecrated 
bread.  Behind,  having  fallen  back  with  neigh- 
bours, was  the  girl's  new  protectress,  Douce,  a 
good  woman  whom  neither  toil  nor  privation 
had  hardened. 

'  Why  do  you  weep  ? '  cried  the  young  man, 
with  almost  asperity  in  his  voice.  '  Our  fortunes 
are  no  worse  than  they  were — before  Pernelle 
offered  to  give  me  her  name,  I  mean.' 

'  Oh,  Laurent,  you  know  why  I  am  too  happy 
and  too  sad,'  answered  the  little  thing.  '  Once 
more  let  me  plead,  not  wholly  against  myself. 
By  and  by,  I  shall  feel  proud  and  thankful 
that  I  helped  to  make  a  bourgeois,  a  rich 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  159 


man  of  you.      My  own  sorrow  will  gradually 
lessen  '- 

She  went  on  with  her  artless  advocacy,  but 
all  in  vain.  The.  young  man  turned  upon  her 
with  a  stinging  word. 

You  forget  one  kind  of  poverty  you  would 
bring  upon  me,'  he  said.  '  Is  not  faith  in  one's 
self  golden  treasure  ? ' 

He  added,  now  speaking  soothingly,  '  Look 
you,  Finette,  even  if  I  could  forget  you  entirely, 
no  more  remember  you  than  if  we  had  never 
seen  each  other,  this  marriage  might  make  my 
fortune,  it  could  not  make  me  happy.  Pernelle 
stands  too  high  above  me.  I  should  always 
feel  her  dependent,  her  servitor.  So  have 
done.' 

To  please  him,  she  wiped  her  blue  eyes  and 
flushed  cheeks,  smiled  and  chatted ;  but  he 
saw  that  acquiescence  hardly  meant  conviction. 
Even  this  rustic,  untaught,  timid  Finette  had 
thoughts  he  could  not  read. 

The  girl  was  in  the  exalted  frame  that  makes 
martyrs  of  the  humblest.  Just  so  infantine,  yet 
heroic,  the  little  Christian  slave  Blandine,  cen- 
turies before,  her  constancy  under  Roman 
inquisitors  moving  the  rude  Gallic  chieftains 


160  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

to  wonder  and  pity.  This  new  religion,  the 
faith  she  owed  Laurent,  influenced  every  action. 
She  felt,  too,  so  grateful  for  the  gift,  so  anxious 
to  repay  him,  even  at  the  sacrifice  of  her  own 
happiness. 

On  arriving,  they  found  an  immense  concourse 
of  people  already  assembled.  The  breezy 
plateau  presented  the  appearance  of  a  fair, 
from  end  to  end  crowded  with  moving  masses, 
townsfolk  and  peasants,  rich  and  poor,  on  tip- 
toe of  expectation,  agog  to  see  what  Huguenot 
worship  was  like. 

'  Who  is  that  fine  bourgeoise  looking  so  hard 
at  you  both  ? '  asked  Douce,  rejoining  the  pair. 

The  good  soul,  although  a  devout  Catholic, 
could  no  more  stay  at  home  than  her  neigh- 
bours. 

Laurent  and  Finette  glanced  up  for  a  moment, 
then  on  the  ground,  stammering  reply.  It  was 
Pernelle,  who  had  accepted  a  seat  in  some 
acquaintance's  caleche ;  not  to  look  on  idly 
inquisitive,  but  to  countenance  fellow-citizens, 
till  yesterday  under  the  ban,  still  so  sorely 
maltreated  by  the  law.  Here  was  a  good 
opportunity  for  fraternal  demonstration  and 
approval.  Again,  the  Protestants  were  sus- 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  161 

piciously  regarded  by  certain  classes ;  there 
were  rumours  of  ruffianly  interference,  even  of 
organised  opposition.  And  as  if  the  lives  of 
these  newly  recognised  citizens  counted  for 
naught,  no  agents  of  law  or  police  had  been 
sent  to  protect  them.  Whilst,  two  or  three 
years  before,  a  handful  of  old  men,  women,  and 
children  thus  met  together  would  have  been 
brutally  dispersed  by  dragoons,  their  prayer- 
meeting  apparently  as  dangerous  to  the  State 
as  ari  invading  army,  not  a  single  soldier 
was  told  off  for  the  safety  of  hundreds  when 
legitimately  employed.  All  the  more  needful, 
thought  Pernelle,  that  orderly,  reputable  folks 
should  show  themselves.  She  wore  holiday 
dress,  and,  with  two  portly  dames,  no  less 
handsomely  attired,  formed  a  striking  contrast 
to  the  Huguenot  matrons  in  their  long,  hooded, 
funereal  cloaks.  Well,  indeed,  might  they  wear 
black.  Had  not  existence  been  one  protracted 
mourning  ? 

'What  can  have  brought  Pernelle  here?' 
Finette  asked  in  a  frightened  voice. 

Laurent  also  was  greatly  agitated.  After 
what  had  happened,  he  could  not  explain  his 
cousin's  presence  to-day.  The  true,  the  gener- 


1 1 


162  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

ous  motive  never  once  occurred  to  him.  That 
Pernelle  should  carry  forbearance  so  far  as  not 
only  to  overlook  personal  affront,  but  counte- 
nance the  aggressor,  was  a  piece  of  magnanimity 
beyond  conception.  These  naive  lovers  lived 
outside  the  great,  changing,  already  storm  - 
tossed  world  in  which  she  had  her  being. 
To  the  Beautiful  Mercer,  Laurent's  rejection 
of  her  hand  and  foolish  fancy  had  become  little 
things. 

'Oh,'  replied  the  young  man,  anxious  to  set 
his  companion  at  ease, '  it  is  Sunday,  remember, 
when  all  rich  folks  are  abroad.  One  show  does 
as  well  as  another.' 

He  was  really  thinking  not  of  Pernelle,  but 
of  the  careless,  gaping  crowd,  to  whom  this 
solemn  occasion  was  a  mere  spectacle. 

'  Pernelle  perhaps  has  something  to  say  to 
you.  Had  you  not  better  seek  her  ?  '  was  the 
timid  rejoinder. 

In  Finette's  eyes  their  patroness  was  a  wholly 
superior  creature,  to  be  courted,  done  homage 
to  ;  no  princess  higher  above  them.  Humility 
well  became  apprentice  and  serving  -  mard ; 
hauteur  equally  beseemed  the  bourgeoise,  the 
great  lady. 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  163 

'  Hush,  the  service  begins/  Laurent  whispered, 
uncovering  his  head  and  bowing  low. 

There  was  no  bell  to  usher  in  the  con- 
gregation, no  sacristan  to  marshal  pastor 
and  elders  to  their  places.  A  circle  formed, 
several  deep,  the  children  placed  first ;  then, 
as  the  minister,  wearing  austere  Calvinistic 
garb,  took  up  his  post,  all  standing  broke  forth 
in  song. 

That  artlessly-worded  hymn  caught  up  by 
young  and  old,  the  first  French  hymn  to  greet 
Catholic  ears,  had  marvellous  effect.  Onlookers, 
for  the  most  part,  were  as  ignorant  about 
Protestant  ritual  as  about  sun-worship  or  the 
doctrine  of  Confucius.  Children  of  orthodox 
parents  were  taught  to  loathe  it  like  paganish 
idolatry.  What  indeed  must  that  superstition 
be  like,  how  abominable  and  blasphemous,  thus 
held  deserving  of  outlawry,  mutilation,  the 
galleys,  gibbet,  and  stake  ?  General  aston- 
ishment knew  no  bounds,  when  a  short  but 
fervent  prayer  was  followed  by  exposition  of 
Scripture  and  exhortation  to  faith,  hope,  charity, 
and  a  godly  life,  all  in  mother  tongue.  But  it 
was,  above  all,  the  simple  sacramental  rite  that 
bewildered  outsiders.  As  the  communicants, 


164  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

men  bareheaded,  women  meekly  looking  down, 
stood  around  the  pastor,  and  he  handed  chalice 
and  bread  to  each,  a  text  accompanied  the 
ceremonial ;  to  the  aged  and  broken-down  were 
spoken  words  of  comfort  and  upholding,  to  the 
young  and  valiant  a  message  of  courage  and 
looking-forward. 

1  These  Protestants,  then,  they  believe  in  God 
and  Jesus  Christ  ? '  murmured  one. 

'  Heretics  folks  call  them  ?  Why,  they  read 
the  Bible ! '  quoth  another. 

'  Huguenots,  forsooth  ! '  cried  a  third.  '  Well 
worth  hanging,  burning,  torturing  people  who 
pray  to  Jesus  Christ  like  ourselves  ! ' 

The  simple  yet  solemn  celebration  brought 
about  a  tremendous  change  of  opinion.  Bra- 
vadoes come  to  hoot  and  yell,  perhaps  also 
to  hustle  and  maltreat,  were  subdued  by  the 
apostolic  scene,  bigots  shamed  into  respect  and 
pity.  Not  a  rude  expression  was  uttered,  not 
an  offensive  gesture  indulged  in.  Under  the 
rejoicing  sky,  amid  the  beauteous  promise  of 
summer,  a  new  feeling  thrilled  every  heart,  a 
new  religion  dawned  upon  every  mind.  Already 
the  ideal  of  the  Revolution,  universal  brother- 
hood, seemed  within  the  limits  of  possibility. 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  165 

The  mere  prospect  of  liberty  disfranchised,  the 
dream  of  concord  united ! 

This  poor  France  was  so  weary  of  hatreds 
and  persecutions,  civil  warfares,  domestic  feuds  ! 
The  thoughtful,  no  matter  their  convictions, 
yearned  for  toleration.  Fanaticism  had  defeated 
its  own  ends.  With  one  voice,  the  country 
clamoured  for  compromise,  freedom  of  thought, 
equality  before  the  law. 

The  last  of  the  communicants  were  Laurent 
and  Finette.  As  if  divining  the  tie  that  bound 
them  together,  apparently  interpreting  blushes 
and  downcast  looks,  the  pastor  made  one  text 
serve  for  both. 

'  Be  kindly  affectioned  one  to  another,  with 
brotherly  love,  in  honour  preferring  one 
another ' — 

Finette  did  not  hear  the  rest.  The  ser- 
vice, so  simple  yet  moving,  every  phase 
appealing  to  the  individual,  had  more  than 
touched  her  ;  it  had  revealed  a  new,  heroic  self, 
hitherto  undreamed  of,  but  no  longer  to  be  kept 
in  the  background.  The  very  air  of  France 
seemed  impregnated  with  heroism  just  then. 
.Among  the  humblest  and  apparently  least  en- 
thusiastic, self-sacrifice  and  loftiness  of  soul 


166  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

shone  forth  spontaneously.  The  most  common- 
place no  longer  recognised  himself.  Whilst 
Laurent  was  embracing  this  brother  in  the  faith 
and  that,  she  stole  unobserved  to  Pernelle. 

'  Laurent  does  not  guess,  Laurent  must  not 
know,'  she  whispered  very  quickly,  as  if  feeling 
that  each  word  sealed  a  compact.  '  Since  com- 
ing here,  only  just  now,  I  have  made  up  my 
mind.  He  shall  never  lower  himself,  ruin  his 
prospects,  by  marrying  me  '- 

Glancing  round,  making  sure  that  these  con- 
fidences were  safe,  she  added — 

'  Douce,  my  neighbour  yonder,  has  relations 
a  long  way  off,  on  the  banks  of  the  Saone. 
They  want  a  girl,  she  says,  to  help  with  the 
cows.  I  will  hide  myself  there.  Pernelle, 
mistress,  you  will  forgive  us  both,  will  you 
not?' 

'  My  poor  girl,'  Pernelle  replied  coldly,  but 
not  unkindly,  '  I  have  other  plans  of  befriending 
you  both.  Stay  with  Douce  for  the  present.' 

'  Say  that  Laurent  is  forgiven,'  pleaded  the 
little  thing.  Of  her  own  happiness  she  was 
hardly  thinking.  '  Do  not  let  me  cause  his 
ruin.' 

4  A  man  is  responsible  for  his  own  fortunes. 


UNDER  THE  ELMS  OF  SULLY  167 

Laurent  having  decided  thus,  neither  you  nor  I 
have  anything  to  say,'  was  the  haughty  reply. 
'  But  I  shall  not  abandon  you ' — 

'  Mistress,  mistress  ! '  sobbed  Finette. 

'  I  repeat,  stay  for  awhile  where  you  are. 
You  shall  hear  from  me.' 

And  with  that  rejoinder,  Pernelle  turned  away. 

'  What  was  Pernelle  talking  about  just  now  ? ' 
asked  Laurent,  coming  up. 

He  too  had  been  greatly  moved  by  the 
morning's  event,  but  things  touched  him  after 
different  fashion.  His  voice  sounded  harsh, 
his  manner  was  rough,  to  Finette's  thinking. 
Trial,  whilst  it  softened  and  sweetened  her 
character,  hardened  his ;  religion  braced  him 
to  the  fulfilment  of  duty,  it  did  not  render  him 
gentler,  more  clinging. 

'  She  says  that  I  am  to  stay  with  Douce  for 
the  present,  and  that  she  will  not  forsake  me,' 
Finette  answered,  affecting  cheerfulness.  The 
rebuff  had  by  no  means  shaken  her  determina- 
tion. Laurent  should  be  saved  in  spite  of 
himself.  Meantime,  she  must  keep  her  secret. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

'  NOT    A    BAUBLE    FOR    MOTHER    COUNTRY  ?  ' 

THE  Fleming,  keeping  time  above  Notre 
Dame  with  automatic  spouse  and  bantling, 
looked  down  upon  many  a  wondrous  sight 
during  this  wondrous  summer  of  '89.  More 
fortunate  than  the  comparatively  Lilliputian 
folk  underneath,  the  trio  in  bronze  could  remain 
at  their  post,  yet  miss  nothing  that  went  on, 
north,  south,  towards  the  rising  or  setting  sun. 
They  could  watch  the  daily  muster  in  the  Place 
d'Armes,  that  graceful  horseshoe  before  the 
Ducal  Palace,  whither  flocked  Dijonnais 
centuries  before,  whenever  Charles  the  Bold 
took  an  airing.  So  resplendent  the  array 
of  the  mad  Plantagenet,  and  so  agog  the 
populace  to  behold,  that  it  was  the  business  of 
two  lacqueys  to  keep  off  the  curious.  This  was 
done  by  laying  lustily  on  their  shoulders  with 
ivory  staves,  the  way  being  kept  by  fierce 


168 


NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOR  MOTHER  COUNTRY?' 


archers  ;  once  fairly  off,  the  glittering,  gorgeous 
figure  flashed  by  like  a  meteor,  so  at  least  old 
chronicles  tell  us.  Stranger  spectacles  by  far 
now  took  place  under  the  eyes  of  the  hammer- 
man and  his  fellow-townsmen.  Days  no  longer 
resembled  each  other,  hardly  an  hour  but 
something  occurred  wholly  out  of  the  common 
way,  every  evening  brought  portentous  news, 
every  week  its  catastrophe.  The  world,  the 
world  of  France,  was  revolutionised  by  the 
very  whisper  of  Revolution  ! 

And  all  this  time  the  mass  of  the  generous 
French  people  was  subsisting  mainly  on  hope, 
on  the  promise  of  to-morrow.  The  peasants 
grew  more  hollow-eyed  in  the  cabin,  the  kine 
leaner  in  the  field.  There  were  famine-stricken 
regions,  famine-stricken  towns  anxiously  await- 
ing news  from  Paris.  The  States  General,  a 
free  parliament,  the  representatives  of  the 
people  —  would  these  soon  bring  a  plenteous 
yield,  a  cheap  loaf?  No  one  will  ever  know 
how  much  hunger  and  nakedness  had  to  do 
with  this  great  year. 

As  yet,  buying  and  selling  went  on  busily 
under  the  clock  ;  love  of  finery  and  of  good 
cheer  still  actuated  the  belles  and  bon  vivants  of 


170  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

the  Burgundian  capital.  Pernelle's  stalls  were 
attractive  as  ever;  and  from  end  to  end  the 
city  savoured  of  gingerbread,  that  unrivalled, 
time-honoured  compound  of  honey  and  buck- 
wheat invented  by  Charles  the  Bold  himself. 
Pernelle  and  sober-minded  folks,  however,  grew 
thoughtful ;  the  pitiful  looked  to  their  ledgers 
and  daily  outlay ;  need  had  come  for  rigid 
economy  and  hitherto  undreamed-of  self-sacri- 
fice. The  events  in  Paris  were  but  precursive 
of  others  far  wider  reaching ;  universal  revolu- 
tion meant  deserted  fairs,  empty  workshops, 
inanimate  counters.  Who  could  say  for  how 
long  ? 

Foremost  to  take  magnanimous  initiative 
was  the  beautiful  city  of  Dijon.  Prouder 
pageants  had  been  witnessed  in  the  crescent 
before  the  Ducal  Palace,  none  more  moving 
than  to-day's — a  roll-call  of  the  charitable,  the 
beneficent.  From  lauds  to  vespers,  folks  were 
summoned  on  behalf  of  the  poor.  A  collection 
was  to  be  made,  jewellery  asked  for  as  well  as 
money. 

'  I  don't  mind  what  sister  says,'  whispered 
Barbe  to  Berthe,  as  the  two  girls  dressed.  '  I 
am  not  going  to  give  my  silver  thimble  to  the 


'NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOE  MOTHER  COUNTRY''     171 


mother  country,  as  she  calls  it.     What  is  the 
mother  country  to  me  ? ' 

'  Hush ! '  retorted  the  more  circumspect, 
worldly  -  wise  Berthe.  '  Unless  you  give 
something,  Pernelle  won't  let  you  go  to  the 
Place  d'Armes  at  all.' 

'  Then  I'll  buy  a  brass  thimble  and  toss  it  in 
for  gold.' 

Berthe  laughed  quizzically.  '  You  forget 
Pernelle's  eyes  will  be  on  us.  /  intend  to  give 
these.' 

Very  ostentatiously  she  produced  a  pair  of 
old-fashioned  gold  earrings.  Standing  before 
the  mirror,  gracefully  adjusting  the  pendants, 
as  gracefully  removing  them  from  her  ears,  she 
went  on — 

'  You  seem  to  forget,  too,  that  all  the  town 
will  be  staring,  and  that  sister  Pernelle  is  sure 
to  reward  us  handsomely.  Just  watch  me. 
"Gentlemen,"  I  shall  say  as  I  take  off  the 
drops,  "  I  am  but  a  child,  a  young  milliner 
learning  her  trade.  I  give  all  I  have,  the 
most  precious  souvenir  of  a  beloved  mother, 
for  whose  soul  in  purgatory  I  daily  offer 
prayers." 

'  Pernelle  won't  allow  you  to  say  that,  because 


172  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

it  is  not  true.  The  earrings  were  paid  as  a 
bad  debt  to  her,  and  she  gave  them  to  you.' 

'  Oh,  bother ! '  was  the  impatient  answer. 
'  How  tiresome  it  is  to  be  perpetually  worried 
about  speaking  the  truth  !  What  can  it  matter 
how  I  came  by  the  trinkets  so  long  as  I  give 
them  ?  Well,  I  must  trump  up  some  other 
story.  "  Gentlemen,"  I  will  say,  "  what  greater 
proof  can  I  give  of  my  patriotism,  my  dis- 
interestedness? Verging  on  womanhood,  no 
less  vain  than  the  rest  of  my  sex,  I  yet 
relinquish  the  contents  of  my  jewel-case." 

In  the  midst  of  the  little  scene  entered 
the  ubiquitous,  the  dreaded  Pernelle.  There 
was  no  eluding  the  vigilance  of  this  terrible 
guardian. 

'  Why  such  lingering  in  your  bedroom  ? ' 
Pernelle  said  sharply.  '  The  shop  is  open, 
your  soup  is  ready  in  the  kitchen.  Not  another 
minute's  delay,  I  beg.' 

'  Dear  little  sister,'  cajoled  Barbe,  the  more 
daring  of  the  twins,  '  we  were  only  making  up 
our  minds  what  to  give  to  the  Patrie.  Just 
think,  Berthe  offers  her  gold  earrings  ! ' 

Momentarily  beguiled,  ever  seeking  figs  of 
thistles  and  grapes  of  thorns,  Pernelle  bent  low, 


'NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOR  MOTHER  COUNTRY?'    173 

she  alertly  examined  the  ornaments,  once  more 
appraising  their  value. 

'  Good  girl !  We  cannot  too  early  appreciate 
the  value  of  self-sacrifice.' 

'  Which  means,'  thought  Berthe,  '  that  sister 
Pernelle  will  buy  me  a  new,  fashionable  pair.' 

'  And  you,  Barbe  ? '  Pernelle  added,  turning 
to  the  younger  twin,  her  sister's  junior  by  an 
hour. 

'  Won't  Berthe's  gift  suffice  for  both  ? '  was 
the  reply. 

'How  like  her!'  put  in  Berthe  self-approv- 
ing^ v-  'Sister  Pernelle,  I  told  her  just  now 
that  she  ought  to  give  her  silver  thimble.' 

Barbe  pouted. 

1  Not  a  thimble  for  the  Patrie,  for  your 
starving  fellow  country-people  ? '  Pernelle  re- 
monstrated. 

'And  after  all,  as  I  said,'  Berthe  went  on, 
'  it  is  not  as  if  nobody  would  be  the  wiser ; 
every  one  will  praise  us.  Uncle  Parfait  is  sure 
to  bring  us  something  pretty  from  Paris,  by 
way  of  reward  ' — 

Pernelle  threw  down  the  gewgaws  with  a 
look  the  minxes  understood  but  too  well. 

'  You  may  both  go  to   the   Place  d'Armes,' 


174  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

she  said  ;  '  but  I  forbid  either  of  you  to  give 
anything ' ;  and  thereupon  she  left  them. 

No  time  for  the  usual  recrimination  and 
making  up;  crestfallen,  sulky,  and  vindictive, 
Berthe  and  Barbe  entered  upon  the  daily 
routine.  When  would  the  time  come — ah, 
when!  —  for  repayment  of  these  injuries? 
Pernelle  had  kept  the  family  fortunes  together, 
educated,  trained,  fostered  them,  her  very 
benefits  seemed  so  much  unkindness. 

Very  sadly  Pernelle  set  off  for  the  Place 
d'Armes,  bearing  her  own  gift,  an  heirloom  of 
intrinsic  worth  and  real  splendour.  It  was 
a  massive  chain  of  Peruvian  gold,  bequeathed 
by  a  West  Indian  trader  to  some  Nesmond 
years  and  years  before.  Pernelle's  paternaj 
ancestor  had  rendered  this  merchant  signal 
service,  of  which  the  chain  was  to  be  perpetual 
reminder. 

'  Could  a  better  use  be  put  to  ill-gotten 
treasure?'  reflected  the  young  mercer.  '  Honest 
as  might  have  been  my  grandfather's  client, 
his  moidores  originated  in  bloodshed  and 
rapine :  let  the  curse  be  redeemed  by  blessings 
of  the  hungry.' 

She   forgot    her    calculating    sisters    as   she 


'NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOB  MOTHER  COUNTRY?'    175 

reached  the  crescent,  not  as  yet  gay  with 
the  Tricolour,  not  as  yet  ringing  with  the 
Marseillaise,  but  animated  by  a  new  spirit. 
Already  love  of  country,  patriotism,  the  senti- 
ment that  had  slumbered  since  the  days  of 
the  Immortal  Maid,  were  revived.  Humdrum 
natures,  obscure  folks,  thrilled  at  a  voice  now 
heard  for  the  first  time,  the  voice  that  links 
men  together,  makes  of  heterogeneous  masses 
a  nation. 

In  the  centre  of  this  elegant  amphitheatre, 
conspicuously  raised,  was  a  huge  table  heaped 
with  glittering  objects.  At  either  end  soldiers 
kept  guard,  whilst,  hedging  a  way  for  the 
donors,  stood  municipal  guards  in  best  array. 
No  one  had  eyes  for  the  uniforms,  so  different 
to  the  tatterdemalion  dress  of  former  days, 
nor  for  the  violet  and  ermine  of  provincial 
authorities,  provosts  and  men  of  law.  Still  less 
cared  any  spectator  to  admire  the  beautiful 
framework  of  the  picture,  Ducal  Palace  and 
Tower,  St.  Michel's  cupolas  recalling  the  Italy 
of  its  architect,  St.  Be'nigne  with  its  spire  bent 
in  perpetual  adoration — above  all,  the  deep  blue 
cloudless  heaven.  People  had  come  to  see  who 
gave  and  what  was  given. 


176  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


Pernelle  had  reasons  of  her  own  for  per- 
forming this  duty  unobtrusively.  She  hardly 
pardoned  herself  as  yet  for  the  impulsive 
behaviour  of  a  few  days  ago.  Certain  neigh- 
bours, she  knew,  severely  criticised  that  open 
recognition  of  Protestantism  on  the  occasion 
of  the  great  muster,  whilst  kinsfolk  and 
intimates,  alike  the  orthodox  and  unortho- 
dox, looked  askance  at  a  mixed  marriage. 
None,  however,  could  remonstrate;  Pernelle's 
decision  of  character  prevented  interference 
and  staved  off  criticism.  But  she  was  a 
tradeswoman,  and  as  such  obliged  to  conciliate 
popular  opinion.  Very  demurely,  in  neatest 
possible  dress,  her  gold  chain  swinging  from 
beautifully  mittened  arm,  she  was  about  to 
enter  the  enclosure  when  a  voice  called  her 
name. 

Glancing  up,  she  saw  her  host  of  a  few  days 
before,  now  hardly  recognisable.  The  poor 
marquis,  forced  to  visit  Dijon  on  business,  had 
contrived  to  look  like  other  people.  Why 
should  a  ruined  seigneur  not  borrow  his  neigh- 
bour's redingote,  even  hose,  upon  occasions  ? 
It  must  be  admitted  that  the  loan  worked 
wonders.  Pernelle  forgot  the  threadbare 


'NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOR  MOTHER  COUNTRY?'    177 

dressing-gown,  the  slippers  worn  at  the  heel, 
the  tattered  ruffle.  She  was  only  sensible  of  a 
double  charm.  To-day,  dignity  of  mien  and 
manner  were  enhanced  by  appropriate  dress. 
So  deep  the  gulf  dividing  noblesse  and 
bourgeoisie,  that  no  etiquette  prevented  a 
seigneur  from  addressing  a  shopwoman.  His 
greeting,  indeed,  was  but  an  excuse  to  look  at 
her.  He  hardly  knew  how  much  and  how 
often  Pernelle  had  been  in  his  thoughts  since 
their  interview.  Forgetting  his  poverty,  de- 
lighted to  recognise  fellow  feeling  in  one  of 
higher  rank,  the  young  mercer  bowed  low,  yet 
spoke  out  freely. 

'How  happy  it  makes  one  to  give!'  she 
cried,  holding  up  her  heavy  gold  chain  —  '  to 
see  all  France  bent  on  succouring  the  unfor- 
tunate ! ' 

Velours  looked  as  one  who  receives  cruel 
rebuke.  Truth  to  tell,  he  had  come  to  Dijon 
in  utter  ignorance  of  this  patriotic  fete.  News- 
papers were  unknown  outside  city  gates  ;  from 
end  to  end  of  rural  France,  the  letter-carrier 
was  unknown  also  ;  of  what  good  letter-carriers 
when  most  folks  could  neither  read  nor  write  ? 
Even  the  rich  and  instructed  within  a  league 


12 


178  A  KO MANGE  OF  DIJON 

or  two  of  towns,  remained  ignorant  of  what 
went  on  there  till  weeks  afterwards. 

'  For  of  course  you  have  heard  ? '  Pernelle 
added.  '  To-day  we  are  collecting  money  and 
treasure  to  feed  the  starving.  Thousands  are 
without  work  and  bread  at  Lyons ;  in  the 
villages  of  the  Jura,  peasants  are  actually  dying 
of  hunger.' 

The  poor  marquis  all  the  time  was  feeling  in 
his  pockets,  he  knew  well  enough  that  they 
were  empty  as  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned. 
The  desperate  cling  to  a  straw — what  if  his 
lendings  contained  a  coin  or  two  ? 

Whilst  he  reddened  with  alternate  hope  and 
discomfiture,  Pernelle  chattered  gaily  as  before. 
Raising  that  beautiful  hand  and  wrist,  the  white 
skin  gleaming  like  ivory  under  her  black  lace 
mitten,  she  pointed  to  the  shining  trophy.  It 
told  its  own  tale.  Gold  and  silver  plate, 
jewels  and  pearls,  mosaics,  even  velvets  and 
lace,  made  a  gorgeous  pile.  And  at  every 
moment  the  pyramid  increased.  Grandsires 
and  grandames  tottered  up  with  little  children. 
Here  would  lie  some  stout  citizen's  gold  snuff- 
box, there  some  schoolgirl's  silver  chaplet,  each 
oblation  calling  forth  tremendous  applause. 


'NOT  A  BAUBLE  FOR  MOTHER  COUNTRY?'     179 

Mistaking  her  companion's  attitude  for 
indecision,  thinking  perhaps  that  a  seigneur 
recoiled  from  a  movement  so  popular,  Pernelle 
added  with  gentle  raillery— 

'  Not  a  bauble  for  the  Patrie,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  ? ' 

Velours'  mortification  now  amounted  to 
positive  anguish.  What  would  he  not  have 
given  for  a  louis  d'or,  a  crown-piece,  anything 
in  the  shape  of  money  ?  Baubles,  forsooth ! 
the  girl's  playful  suggestion  stung  him  as  an 
insult.  Had  not  one  trinket  gone  after 
another,  and  of  very  truth  to  feed  the  starving  ? 
But  for  a  ring  here,  a  gold  buckle  there,  first  a 
pearl-inlaid  miniature-frame,  next  a  fan  that 
had  been  his  mother's,  he  should  himself  have 
starved  long  ago.  Baubles  had  fed  and  clothed 
him  for  years  past. 

Pernelle  waited,  captivatingly  importunate. 
As  a  girl  smiles  upon  her  lover,  caresses  him 
with  looks,  all  the  more  irresistible  because 
they  are  angelically  pure,  she  smiled  upon 
the  unloved,  uncaressed  man  now.  He  knew 
nothing  of  love,  this  poor  marquis,  nothing  of 
women,  except  the  knowledge  all  men  pick  up 
eagerly  in  their  youth  and  would  fain  afterwards 


180  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

forget.  It  flashed  upon  him  as  a  revelation 
that  his  life  had  been  contemptible  and  bereft. 

'  Not  a  bauble  for  the  Patrie,  Monsieur  le 
Marquis  ? '  repeated  Pernelle. 

Velours  was  in  that  humour  when  men  are 
ready  to  fling  away  fortune,  honour,  even  life, 
for  a  woman's  smile.  Not  venturing  to  give 
himself  time  for  reflection,  so  much  as  an 
instant's  pause,  he  took  off  his  diamond  and 
emerald  ring,  that  princely  gage  of  affection 
from  Sultan  to  ancestral  Crusader,  offered  to  a 
Velours  hundreds  of  years  before.  Glancing 
back  as  he  went,  answering  smile  by  smile, 
he  marched  straight  to  the  trophy  and  threw 
down  his  splendid  gift.  Then,  the  applause  of 
bystanders  unacknowledged,  Pernelle's  grate- 
ful look  accepted  shyly,  he  hurried  away.  The 
last  five  minutes  had  made  him  in  one  sense  a 
bankrupt,  in  another  a  millionaire ! 


CHAPTER  XV 

'  THE    BASTILLE,    THE    BASTILLE  !  ' 

THIS  first  summer  of  Revolution  was  fiery 
as  men's  slumbering  passions  ;  whilst,  morally 
speaking,  France  trembled  on  a  volcano,  ready 
at  any  moment  to  vomit  flames  and  destruction, 
so  the  solid  earth,  parched  by  long  drought, 
baked  through  and  through  by  a  torrid  sun, 
seemed  presageful  of  catastrophe.  Already, 
indeed,  famine  was  abroad,  and  in  its  wake 
followed  pestilence,  vindictive  sense  of  wrong, 
murderous  instinct  of  self-preservation.  No 
one  knows,  none  will  ever  know,  what  the 
French  peasant  suffered  under  the  Great  King 
—  god,  as  his  priests  called  him  —  and  his 
successors,  the  serf  of  the  Middle  Ages  enviable 
by  comparison. 

In  the  fierce  July  glare,  getting  shade  where 
they  could,  Finette  set  off  with  Douce  and 
Fortune"  for  her  new  home  on  the  Saone.  The 


181 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


little  man  knew  the  country  well,  and  was  able 
by  many  a  device  to  shorten  the  journey,  ten 
leagues  as  the  crow  flew,  and  an  unprecedented 
enterprise  to  his  companions.  Only  rich  women 
and  business  women  travelled  in  these  days, 
country  folks  for  the  most  part  being  fixtures. 

But  proud  affection  lent  Finette  courage,  and 
Douce  was  animated  by  motives  equally  strong. 
The  good  soul  had  a  son  employed  by  kinsfolk 
in  the  village  to  which  they  were  bound. 
Fortune^  had  hinted  at  Huguette's  stockingful. 

'  Look  you,'  she  had  said  to  her  husband, 
the  patient,  cheery,  artless  Felix,  so  well 
matched  with  herself,  both  so  contrasted  to  their 
hard-headed,  worldly-wise  neighbours,  Pierre 
and  Jeanne,  'Velours  will  sell  Huguette's 
vineyard,  so  folks  say.  What  if  little  Finette 
marries  our  Edmond  ? ' 

The  pacific  fellow  nodded  assent,  but  said 
nothing.  One  might  have  supposed  from  the 
general  taciturnity,  that  speech,  as  well  as  every 
other  necessity  of  existence,  was  taxed  in  rural 
France.  The  Revolution  indeed  accomplished 
more  than  history  writes  of.  With  an  era  of 
well-being,  it  restored  to  the  peasant  his  original 
gaiety,  his  inborn  garrulousness. 


'THE  BASTTLLE,  THE  BASTILLE!1  183 

Douce  had  her  way,  and  set  out  on  twofold 
errand  —  firstly,  to  negotiate  these  bridals ; 
secondly,  to  sell  at  St.  Jean  de  Losne  or 
Seurre  a  pile  of  linen,  spun  and  woven  by  her- 
self. To  Finette's  romance  Douce  hardly  gave 
a  second  thought.  Edmond  was  an  honest 
lad,  and  wanted  a  wife.  Finette  possessed 
a  little  money,  and  wanted  a  steward  thereof. 
Better  reasons  for  marriage  could  hardly  be 
found. 

On  the  trio  trudged,  their  guide  and  protector 
now  carrying  one  bundle,  now  another,  singing, 
whistling,  telling  stories  by  the  way.  Freedom, 
good  fellowship,  hedgerow  snack,  he  needed 
no  more.  And  he  enjoyed  the  usual  sense  of 
triumph,  the  smuggler's  delight  at  passing 
contraband  goods.  From  Douce's  gay  cotton 
handkerchief  protruded  coarse  felt  shoes  and 
well-darned  bedgown.  Finette's  larger  package 
might  well  be  taken  for  serving-maid's  wardrobe ; 
cunningly  folded  between  each  garment  were 
the  pieces  of  homespun  linen  that  the  king's 
excise  would  have  rendered  profitless.  No 
less  carefully  concealed  round  his  own  person 
were  tiny  quantities  of  soap,  sugar,  and  other 
luxuries  almost  unheard  of  in  country  places, 


184  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

the  secretion  of  each  hitherto  punishable  by 
loss  of  limb,  imprisonment,  death. 

Still  more  carefully  stowed  away  were 
Finette's  gold  pieces,  honestly  acknowledged 
hers,  yet  so  hard  to  surrender.  The  treasure 
seemed  his  own  whilst  he  had  it  about  him. 

'  Come,  my  wenches,'  he  cried,  as  the  blinding 
noonday  beams  found  them  well  on  their  way, 
'  what  say  your  stomachs  to  a  meal  ?  Mine 
has  been  pestering  me  for  an  hour  or  more.' 

The  glittering,  close  -  serried  spires  and 
cupolas  of  Dijon  were  soon  left  far  behind, 
fainter  and  fainter  grew  the  outline  of  the 
Golden  Hills.  The  landscape  grew  leveller 
and  more  monotonous  as  they  advanced,  wide 
spaces  of  cleared  cornland  alternating  with 
stretches  of  stunted  pasture,  and  tiny  plots 
of  Indian  corn,  rye,  or  potatoes.  Few  and 
far  between  the  lean  kine  afield,  or  flock  of 
geese,  minded  by  withered  hag  or  weather- 
beaten,  barefooted  girl.  They  followed  the 
canal  that  shot  straight  as  an  arrow  from  Dijon 
to  St.  Jean  de  Losne,  only  here  and  there  in 
the  far  distance  catching  sight  of  a  hamlet, 
clustered  brown-tiled,  brown-walled  houses ; 
above  these,  the  spire  of  a  church  with  spread- 


'THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  185 

ing  roof,  brooding  as  a  bird  over  its  nestlings. 
A  few  walled-in  manors,  surrounded  by  wood, 
indicated  the  more  prosperous  condition  of 
larger  landowners,  their  class  standing  midway 
betwean  serf  and  seigneur.  Only  one  or  two 
chateaux  were  seen  throughout  the  long 
journey,  these  shut  in  by  trees,  standing  wholly 
aloof,  thus  symbolising  the  gulf  dividing  their 
owners  from  the  dwellers  of  thatched,  mud- 
built,  windowless  cabins.  The  violet  and 
amber  silhouette  of  the  Golden  Hills  grew 
paler  and  paler,  but  still  remained  in  sight, 
cheering  the  women,  making  them  feel  more 
at  home. 

Squatted  on  the  ground,  close  to  the  canal, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  the  trio  opened  their 
wallets. 

'  Is  it  France  as  far  as  we  can  see?'  asked 
Finette,  gazing  around  with  bewilderment. 

'  We  should  have  to  walk  more  days  than 
we  have  as  yet  walked  hours  before  reaching 
Prussia  or  Austria,'  Fortun^  replied,  as  he 
spoke  doling  out  rye  bread  and  soft,  strong 
cheese,  ladled  from  an  earthen  jar.  '  What  are 
you  thinking  of,  girl  ?  We  are  not  yet  in  sight 
of  the  Saone.' 


186  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Humiliated,  she  held  her  peace.  But  the 
wide,  to  her  thinking  immeasurable,  perspective 
still  remained  a  mystery.  Was  it  possible  that 
any  country  could  be  so  large  ?  To  Douce, 
also,  the  sense  of  space  and  remoteness  was 
overwhelming,  uncanny.  Whilst  Finette  felt 
inclined  to  weep,  thinking  of  the  distance  that 
divided  her  from  Laurent,  the  good  housewife 
began  to  accuse  herself  of  temerity.  Should 
she  ever  see  Dijon  and  the  curved  spire  of 
St.  Be*nigne  again  ?  Fortune,  stimulated  by 
a  plentiful  meal — quantity  to  him  was  of  so 
much  more  importance  than  quality — went  on 
enlightening  their  ignorance  in  lordly  fashion. 

'Don't  come  for  book-learning  to  me,'  he 
began ;  '  but  when  a  man  has  eyes,  legs,  and 
an  understanding,  I  take  it  he  can  make  shift 
without  a  map  of  his  own  country.  Look  here.' 

He  bent  forward,  and  with  his  stick  drew  in 
the  white,  smooth  dust  a  rough  but  accurate 
diagram  of  the  France  that  he  knew,  his  survey 
including  Burgundy  and  Franche-Comte",  the 
central  point  being  Dijon.  Fortune's  stick, 
indeed,  might  have  instructed  many  of  his 
betters  in  the  matter  of  geography. 

'  I   have  not  been  run  down  to  earth  like  a 


'THE  PASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  187 

fox  all  these  years  for  nothing,'  he  continued, 
pausing  to  take  a  mouthful.  '  You  see  where 
we  are,  Dijon.  Paris  and — so  folks  say — the 
sea  and  England  lie  behind  us ;  before  us, 
the  Saone,  the  Jura,  and  the  highest  mountain 
in  the  world,  Mont  Blanc.  When  on  the 
top,  you  hear  St.  Michael  and  the  angels 
tuning  their  harps,  and  the  Blessed  Virgin 
scolding  her  serving- maids.  I've  even  heard 
say ' — 

He  swallowed  a  copious  draught  from  the 
one  bottle  of  wine  they  carried  with  them,  a 
still  more  copious  draught  of  water  brought 
from  the  Ouche,  and  added — 

'  I've  even  heard  say  that  cherubim  and 
seraphim  have  fallen  out  of  the  windows.' 

'  Did  any  mortal  ever  reach  the  top,  then  ? ' 
asked  Finette  breathlessly. 

'  Of  course,  child,  or  how  could  Fortune*  have 
heard  tell  of  such  things,'  put  in  Douce.  The 
smuggler's  experience  was  immense,  and  his 
revelations  of  a  piece  with  this  strange  journey. 
Having  got  so  far  from  home,  she  felt  able  to 
believe  anything. 

'  Once  upon  a  time,  not  so  very  long  ago 
either,'  replied  the  oracle,  '  a  traveller  brought 


188  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

down  a  brace  of  doves  that  had  flown  from 
heaven.  But  hark ! ' 

His  look  of  alarm  infected  the  others.  All 
three  became  squat  as  mice. 

'You  hear  horses'  hoofs,  some  one  galloping?' 
asked  Fortune. 

The  two  frightened  women  nodded  assent. 
Quick  as  lightning,  bundles  were  hidden  in  the 
lodge,  Finette's  dowry  handed  to  Douce,  for 
the  hundredth  time  the  vagabond's  last  will 
and  testament  made. 

'  'Tis  the  king's  men  after  me,'  he  said,  casting 
a  hopeless  look  around  ;  there  was  no  chance 
of  escape  in  this  wide,  treeless  plain.  Already 
his  pursuer  had  come  in  sight,  a  few  minutes 
more  and  he  should  be  a  prisoner. 

'  Mind  you,  my  good  Douce,'  continued 
Fortune"  in  a  tone  of  agonised  entreaty,  '  this 
gold  piece  is  my  very  own ;  my  body  will  be 
cast  into  a  ditch  like  a  dead  dog,  but  you  will 
say  masses  for  my  soul.  Make  the  money  go 
as  far  as  you  can  ;  haggle  with  Father  Albin,  he 
is  reasonable.  Do  your  very  best.  And  you, 
little  Finette,  if  you  spend  a  franc  or  two  on 
masses  for  Fortune's  soul,  the  Blessed  Virgin 

o 

will  reward  you,  never  fear.' 


'  THE  BA  STILLS,  THE  BA  STILLE ."  1 89 

Both  promised  their  good  offices,  Finette 
against  her  will — not  that  she  begrudged  the 
money,  but  as  a  Protestant  she  no  longer 
believed  in  redemption  purchasable  as  wares  at 
market. 

'  They  will  cruelly  use  my  body,  death  is  not 
punishment  enough  for  purloining  a  bag  of  the 
king's  salt,'  he  went  on.  '  I  am  not  trembling 
about  that,  I  have  a  stout  heart.  But  purgatory, 
purgatory !  Shorten  the  term,  Douce.  Think 
of  twenty,  fifty,  a  hundred,  a  thousand  years  in 
torment ! ' 

The  rider  now  dashed  up,  and  Fortune", 
resigned  to  his  fate,  confronted  him  boldly. 
How  many  times  had  he  thus  nerved  himself 
to  the  last  calamity,  how  often  gone  mentally 
through  his  fiercest  and  final  trial  on  earth ! 
He  might,  indeed,  be  said  to  have  died  again 
and  again. 

What  was  his  amazement  when,  without  so 
much  as  an  inquisitive  glance,  the  horseman 
merely  shouted  and  galloped  on  ?  All  three 
sprang  to  their  feet,  staring  incredulously,  whilst 
looking  back,  flinging  his  words  behind  him, 
the  figure  flattened  to  the  saddle,  increasing  his 
speed.  'The  Bastille,  the  Bastille!'  They 


190  A  .ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


heard  no   more,  and  the  words  conveyed  but 
little  meaning. 

Fortune  and  his  companions  little  guessed 
that  they  were  already  ringing  throughout 
Europe,  knelling  doom,  announcing  mighty 
advent.  The  day  before  had  been  one  of  the 
great  days  of  the  world.  The  Bastille  had 
fallen ! 


CHAPTER  XVI 

'  THE    BASTILLE,    THE    BASTILLE  !  ' 

THE  level  landscape  through  which  .that  rider 
flashed  as  a  meteor  was  unspeakably  solitary. 
So  deserted  the  high  road,  that  a  stranger  might 
have  imagined  himself  in  a  plague  -  stricken 
or  war-devastated  region.  Far  afield  were 
peasants  turning  hay  or  cutting  corn,  herds 
grazing  here  and  there — that  was  all.  The 
burning  noonday  sun  shone  upon  a  silent, 
inanimate  world — a  world  that  seemed  given 
over  to  despair. 

By  chateau  with  weathercock  and  pigeon- 
house,  pillory  and  carcanet,  hated  symbols  of 
feudal  sway,  dashed  the  messenger,  only  his 
horse's  hoofs  breaking  the  lurid  summer  still- 
ness— past  church  and  presbytery,  these  too 
emblematic  of  privilege  and  extortion  rather 
than  of  justice  and  brotherly  love — past  way- 
side Calvary,  before  which  had  lately  filed 

191 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


Protestant  galley  -  slaves,  for  the  moment 
Romanised,  image-worshippers,  doing  homage 
to  the  first,  last  martyr  of  all  humanity — past 
clustered  cabins,  windowless,  one  -  storeyed, 
falling  to  ruin — past  cornfield  and  meadow, 
grange  and  wine-press,  their  very  abundance 
but  an  added  terror  to  the  peasant,  and  so 
much  aggravation  of  his  poverty,  he  galloped. 
Sentinel  and  watchman  fell  back,  gates  were 

7     o 

thrown  wide,  bridges  became  clear.  Every 
obstacle  gave  way  before  the  herald  of  retribu- 
tion, the  forerunner  of  doom ;  on  he  flew,  as 
that  rider  of  Apocalyptic  vision  to  whom  was 
accorded  a  crown,  who  went  forth  conquering 
and  to  conquer. 

The  husbandman,  sullenly  measuring  his 
tithes  in  kind  for  seigneur  and  cure,  wheat 
and  oats,  hay  and  clover,  the  housewife,  even 
more  morosely  counting  her  poultry,  sure  that 
the  fattest  must  go  as  quit-rent,  glanced  up  for 
a  moment,  then  returned  to  their  ungrateful 
task.  What  had  horseman  and  his  errand  to 
do  with  them  ?  Their  lot  was  to  toil  and  moil  ; 
for  others  the  joyous  season,  the  rapture  of 
sowing  and  gathering  in.  Thus  fared  fathers 
and  forefathers,  thus  would  fare  children  and 


'  THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE ! '  193 

children's  children.  Little  dreamed  these 
toilers  that  every  moment  was  eventful, 
pregnant  of  revolution,  to  be  burnt  into  history 
with  characters  of  fire. 

As  the  afternoon  wore  on,  the  wide  landscape 
was  bathed  in  sultry  haze  ;  hot  copperish  clouds 
rested  above  the  horizon,  only  overhead  deep 
blue  heavens  showing  through  golden  veil. 

The  heavy  slumbrous  stillness  matched  the 
torpid  landscape;  no  smiling,  alert  figures  abroad, 
only  that  of  Labour,  sad-faced,  hopeless,  pitiable 
to  behold. 

But  the  storm,  the  awakening  was  near.  As 
the  leaden,  oppressive  silence  of  nature  pre- 
cedes gathering  tempest,  flash  upon  flash, 
appalling  thunder,  deluging  torrents,  so  was 
the  passivity  of  the  moral  world  portentous  of 
change.  All  had  heard  the  rider's  words  flung 
from  him  in  his  mad  course  as  sparks  from  his 
horse's  feet,  none  guessed  that  ere  the  morrow 
each  would  prove  a  firebrand,  a  sword  for  those 
to  use  who  would  ! 

'  The  Bastille,  the  Bastille  ? '  quoth  Fortune". 
'  Sure  enough  that  is  the  great  prison  in  Paris. 
Yonder  horseman,  doubtless,  is  after  some  one 
13 


194  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

who  has  offended  the  king.  Well,  what  is  that 
to  us  ?  Hand  me  back  my  money,  Mother 
Douce,  and  let  us  have  our  dessert.' 

They  were  half-way  through  their  apples 
when  a  carter  overtook  them.  He  too  must 
have  been  passed  by  the  stranger,  and  carters 
hear  everything. 

'  We'll  bid  the  fellow  to  a  drink,  and  hear 
what  news  he  has  picked  up  on  the  road,'  said 
Fortune". 

The  carter,  bound  from  Genlis  to  Auxonne, 
although  very  willing  to  accept  hospitality, 
could  offer  nothing  by  way  of  payment.  He 
was,  indeed,  more  ignorant  than  themselves. 

Scratching  his  head  with  the  puzzledom 
of  Sancho  Panza,  he  replied— 

'The  Bastille,  the  Bastille?  No  such 
seigneur  lives  hereabouts.  Perhaps  there  is  a 
fire  at  Seurre.' 

'  Hang  the  rascal  for  an  idiot ! '  cried  Fortune, 
with  a  look  of  disgust  holding  his  wine 
bottle  bottom  upward — not  a  drop  remained. 
'  Would  a  messenger  be  despatched  from  Paris 
because  a  fire  had  broken  out  in  Burgundy  ? 
Next  time  we  will  take  care  to  get  more  news 
for  our  money.' 


'  THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE  !'  195 

The  trio,  being  now  well  rested,  went  on 
cheerfully,  the  women  protected  from  the 
blazing  sun  by  white  kerchiefs  tied  under  the 
chin,  Fortund  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  felt 
hat,  in  hot  weather  replacing  the  red  woollen 
cap  of  the  peasant,  so  soon  to  become  sym- 
bolical of  liberty  and  equality  before  the  law— 
alas !  of  lawlessness  also.  Umbrellas,  copied 
from  the  Oriental,  and  not  as  yet  made  to 
shut,  were  luxuries  of  the  rich. 

Here  and  there,  above  the  level  landscape, 
rose  some  chateau  walled  and  turreted,  or  church 
spire  with  clustering  hamlets.  In  field  or  vine- 
yard a  few  country  folks  were  at  work — women 
brown  as  gipsies,  thin  as  their  bare  -  ribbed 
horse  or  cow,  in  scant,  tattered  garments, 
toiling  with  the  men.  As  the  wayfarers 
shouted  a  greeting  to  the  nearest,  they  would 
shade  their  eyes  and  look  up,  then,  nodding 
drearily,  resume  sickle  or  pruning-hook.  The 
high  road  seemed  deserted.  Neither  grand 
nor  beautiful,  the  scenery  nevertheless  im- 
pressed Douce  and  Fortune,  now  for  the  first 
time  so  far  from  home,  now  for  the  first  time 
gazing  on  vast  horizons,  and,  to  their  simple 
imaginations,  boundless  vistas,  wide  sweeps  of 


196  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

pasture  with  herds  browsing  at  large,  hayfields 
enormous  by  comparison  with  their  own.  If 
still  in  France,  could  they  be  still  in  Burgundy, 
the  land  of  vine-covered  hills,  coppice  woods 
and  forest,  close-shut  valley  and  croft  ? 

By  and  by  a  pedlar  overtook  them,  and 
pedlars  were  not  like  carters,  they  had  eyes 
and  ears.  Now  they  should  certainly  learn 
everything. 

But  the  pedlar,  bound  with  mercery  from 
Dijon  to  Seurre,  had  heard  no  more  than  them- 
selves. 

'  The  Bastille,  the  Bastille? '  he  said,  looking 
wise.  '  Something  has  happened  yonder,'  as 
he  spoke  indicating  the  direction  of  Paris  ;  then 
he  added  in  a  tone  of  affectionate  importunity, 
'  Come  now,  father,  treat  your  good  lady  and 
pretty  daughter  to  a  newfangle  apiece.  I've  the 
genteelest  things  in  my  pack,  from  a  sou  or  two 
upwards.' 

Fortun^  reddened  with  pleasure.  No  greater 
compliment  could  be  paid  the  little  wizen- 
faced  bachelor  than  the  title  of  head  of  a  family. 
He  must  purchase  something,  should  it  cost  his 
last  meal. 

'  A  pair  of  garters,  now,  for  mother ;  sure  I 


'  THE  BASTILLE,  THE  PASTILLE!'  197 

am  she  has  a  handsome  leg  and  an  ankle 
turned  for  the  dance,'  continued  the  wary 
huckster.  '  As  to  the  young  lady — well,  don't 
blush,  pretty  one!  I'm  a  poor  man,  but  I  know 
my  place  ;  we'll  not  talk  of  garters  for  you,  but 
of  a  silk  kerchief  for  your  hair.' 

Whilst  the  women's  eyes  sparkled  over  the 
display  of  Lyons  ribbons,  English  pins  and 
needles,  cutlery  from  St.  Etienne,  the  two  men 
slyly  took  notes  of  each  other. 

'  No  peasant  he,'  mused  the  new-comer,  '  but, 
that  I  can  swear  to,  one  of  my  own  craft.' 

'  Sure  enough,'  quoth  Fortune^  '  I  have  seen 
this  fellow's  face  before,  and  where  else  should 
it  be  but  on  the  galleys  or  in  prison  ? ' 

Freemasonry  is  of  more  kinds  than  one,  and 
will  tacitly  assert  itself.  The  pedlar  now  drew 
from  skilfully  contrived  under  -  pockets  little 
rolls  of  paper,  small,  printed,  flying  sheets,  such 
as  his  beholders  had  seen  at  Dijon.  The 
newspaper,  rare  enough  in  fashionable  cafes, 
was  quite  unknown  in  rural  districts.  Marseilles 
soap,  Rouen  cottons,  Flavigny  comfits,  Parisian 
knick-knacks,  now  lost  interest ;  all  three  were 
fascinated  by  the  sight  of  these  new  strange 
wares,  to  all  present  so  many  Sibylline  leaves, 


198  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

unintelligible  as  Egyptian  hieroglyphics.  For- 
tune handled  the  mysterious  pages  wistfully. 

'Ah,  comrade,'  he  said,  'if  you  and  I  were 
only  scholars — what  say  you  ?  ' 

'  Do  you  suppose  that  a  man's  headpiece 
depends  upon  such  rubbish  as  this  ? '  retorted 
the  pedlar  huffishly,  and  replacing  his  packets. 
'  I  flatter  myself  mine  is  pretty  well  furnished 
without  what  goes  by  the  name  of  book-learning. 
However,  we  shall  soon  see.  Folks  in  Paris 
live  no  longer  on  meat  and  drink,  but  on  news- 
papers, so,  leastways,  I  am  told.  Every  day  a 
new  one  is  started.' 

Fortune*  was  dying  to  put  a  delicate  question. 
At  last  he  got  out  timidly,  '  May  any  one  sell 
newspapers  who  can  ?  are  they  duty-free  ? ' 

'  Am  I  speaking  to  a  man  born  of  woman  or 
a  thistle-eating  ass  ? '  asked  the  other  in  a  tone 
of  profound  contempt.  '  Duty-free,  my  man  ?  is 
anything  as  yet  duty-free  in  France  ?  Haven't 
we  to  pay  tax  for  a  sight  of  the  sky,  for  the 
right  to  put  one  foot  before  the  other  ?  But  by 
the  time  harvest  is  over — so  folks  say — there 
won't  be  a  customhouse  nor  an  exciseman  left 
in  the  country.  The  States  General  are  going 
to  turn  everything  upside  down — the  peasant  is 


'  THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  199 

no  longer  to  be  taxed  instead  of  the  seigneur, 
but  the  seigneur  instead  of  the  peasant — which, 
to  my  poor  understanding,  ought  to  have  been 
the  case  long  ago.' 

'Holy  Virgin!'  cried  Douce;  'and  will  the 
like  of  us  become  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  ?  ' 

The  pedlar,  with  Fortune",  was  a  martyr  of 
the  ancien  regime,  St.  Paul  of  a  criminal 
code  unequalled  for  ferocity  among  barbarous 
nations,  and  upheld  to  the  last  by  the  '  mild ' 
Louis  Seize.  -Not  an  inch  of  his  body  but  bore 
marks  of  civil  inquisition,  scourgings,  brandings, 
tortures.  Born  democrat  and  revolutionary,  he 
yet  formulated  a  modest  programme  enough. 

'  Fine  ladies  and  gentlemen  ?  No,  good 
mother — no  offence,  I  fancy  you  would  make 
as  good  a  maid  of  honour  as  I  should  king's 
chamberlain ! — but  a  whole  skin,  the  right  to 
turn  an  honest  penny.  Hurrah  for  the  Three 
Estates,  if  they  ensure  us  all  so  much ! ' 

At  a  bend  of  the  road  he  took  leave,  nodding 
adieux  gaily.  They  continued  their  march, 
talking  of  what  they  had  seen  and  heard.  Was 
it  possible  that  Dijon  lay  but  three  or  four 
leagues  off?  They  seemed  already  at  the 
other  end  of  the  world. 


200  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Through  the  hot,  slumbrous  landscape  they 
followed  the  horseman's  track,  questioning  any- 
one who  came  in  their  way. 

'  The  Bastille,  the  Bastille  ? '  and  a  shake  of 
the  head  formed  the  invariable  answer.  As 
evening  wore  on,  the  silence  and  sultriness 
grew  intenser.  Harvesters  and  haymakers 
were  still  afield,  but  moved  wearily,  auto- 
matically, without  interchanging  a  word,  hardly 
caring  to  raise  their  heads  as  the  travellers 
passed  by. 

Twilight  there  was  none.  Glowing  day 
merged  imperceptibly  into  night  hardly  less 
glowing.  No  moon  lighted  up  the  deep  blue 
heavens,  only  stars,  but  the  silveriness  and 
purity  of  the  atmosphere  rendered  every  object 
visible.  Far  off  gleamed  the  Saone,  a  line  of 
sharp,  metallic  blue,  above  showed  the  tower 
of  St.  Jean  de  Losne,  both  beyond  reach 
that  night.  The  three  footsore  travellers  now 
made  for  the  nearest  village,  seeking  shelter 
in  a  thatched  wayside  cafe",  the  poorest  place 
imaginable,  but  affording  all  that  they  needed, 
a  bowl  of  hot  cabbage  soup,  rye  bread  in 
abundance,  and  beds  for  each. 

The  one  guest-chamber,  bare  as  a  barn,  led 


'THE  BASTILLE,  THE  BASTILLE!'  201 

out  of  the  kitchen,  and  in  each  corner  stood  a 
curtained  bedstead.  Behind  the  folds  of  one 
Douce  and  Finette  sleepily  said  their  prayers  ; 
the  second  was  shared  by  an  honest  charcoal- 
burner  and  his  little  son ;  the  third  Fortune 
occupied ;  and  the  fourth  remained  at  the 
services  of  any  late  comer.  No  one  disturbed 
the  heavy  sleepers.  Throughout  that  short 
summer  night — the  peasant's  day  began  soon 
after  cock-crowing — all  was  calm. 

With  the  morrow  tranquil  nights  and  days 
came  to  an  end  for  awhile.  Not  one  but  a 
thousand  couriers  were  carrying  the  great  news 
throughout  the  country,  throughout  Europe ! 
The  dazed  world  rubbed  its  eyes  and  repeated 
incredulously,  '  The  Bastille  has  fallen  —  the 
Bastille,  did  you  say  ? 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE    COMEDY    OF    REVOLUTION 

WHAT  was  the  transport- of  the  travellers  as  at 
early  dawn  they  came  suddenly  in  sight  of  the 
broad,  bright  river,  the  canal,  mere  rivulet 
by  comparison,  joining  the  semicircle  ?  To  the 
simple  women  that  luminous  band  of  shining 
blue  waters,  making  a  loop  about  the  land- 
scape, circled  France  itself,  was  as  the  fabled 
serpent  embracing  the  ancient  world.  By  the 
low  green  banks  lay  many  a  barge.  On  the 
opposite  side  rose  the  fairy  -  like  outline  of 
Losne,  whilst  before  them  rose  the  famous 
little  city  that  had  once  held  the  Austrian  at 
bay.  In  appearance  warlike  still,  to-day  gates 
and  bridges  were  open,  crowds  were  flocking 
into  the  town  from  all  parts.  As  Douce  and 
Finette  passed  the  sombre  old  church,  both 
smiled  at  the  figure  of  St.  John  over  the 
portico,  in  his  arms  the  symbolic  lamb.  It 

202 


THE  COMEDY  OF  REVOLUTION  203 


seemed  to  them  a  herald  of  peace  and  security. 
The  vast  underground  cellars  or  storehouses 
of  the  citizens  indicated  great  wealth,  and  the 
travellers  gazed  wonderingly  at  the  barrels 
and  heaped-up  goods  below,  at  the  deep  taper- 
ing roofs  above,  and  countless  tiny  dormers. 
Walled-in  gardens  here  and  there  also  recalled 

o 

Dijon. 

But  not  Dijon  itself  had  ever  presented  such 
a  scene  of  tumult  and  confusion  as  St.  Jean  de 
Losne  to-day.  All  Burgundy  seemed  flock- 
ing to  the  little  port  on  the  Saone,  quays  and 
market-place,  streets  and  bridges  crowded, 
business  completely  at  a  standstill,  church 
bells  ringing,  drums  beating,  arms  flashing. 
Musketeers  were  now  marched  aimlessly  in 
one  direction,  dragoons  as  aimlessly  led  at  a 
gallop  in  another,  the  multitude  surging  first 
towards  this  point,  next  towards  that.  The 
townsfolk  had  evidently  gone  stark  mad,  and 
new-comers  caught  the  infection  ;  for  a  brief 
space  reigned  universal  delirium.  Exultation 
alternated  with  suspense,  and  as  there  is  always 
a  vein  of  comedy  in  human  affairs,  folks  were 
constrained  to  laugh  and  weep  by  turns.  A 
shout  here,  and  men,  women,  and  children 


204  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

rushed  forward  as  if  for  dear  life.  The  cry  of 
itinerant  knife-grinder  set  all  the  men  waving 
their  hats  and  crying,  Vivat !  the  distant  rumble 
of  a  donkey-cart  threw  every  woman  near  into 
hysterics.  The  parish  beadle,  not  in  the  least 
knowing  what  he  was  about,  donned  cocked 
hat,  scarlet  coat  braided  with  gold  lace, 
and,  staff  of  office  in  hand,  solemnly  paraded 
the  town,  the  country  folks  falling  on  their 
knees  as  before  the  bishop  himself. 

The  mayor,  as  much  out  of  his  senses  as  the 
rest,  sent  post  haste  for  barber-surgeon  in  order 
to  be  copiously  bled,  next  for  notary  to  make 
his  will,  finally  for  cure"  to  administer  the 
last  sacraments.  The  great  lady  of  the  place, 
Dowager  Countess  of  Losne,  sallied  forth  in 
curl-papers,  slippers,  and  dressing-gown,  and  in- 
sisted on  kissing  her  tradespeople,  husbands  as 
well  as  wives,  grooms  as  well  as  serving-maids. 

The  great  gentleman  of  the  place,  the 
Marquis  of  Seurre,  made  a  round  of  the  hair- 
dressers' shops,  shaking  hands  with  the 
apprentices,  and,  by  way  of  inaugurating 
equality,  challenged  each  to  a  duel. 

One  worthy  citizen,  a  timber  merchant  of 
irreproachable  character,  and  meek  to  a  fault, 


THE  COMEDY  OF  REVOLUTION  205 

placed  himself  in  the  pillory,  and  ordered 
passers-by  to  gibe,  jeer,  and  fling  missiles 
at  the  greatest  miscreant  alive — a  wretch  for 
whom  the  wheel  was  too  good. 

An  exemplary  wife  and  mother,  mistress  of 
a  highly  popular  cabaret  and  eating  -  house, 
the  Cheval  Blanc,  seized  a  burning  hot  spit, 
and  crying,  '  To  the  Bastille,  my  fellow-towns- 
women,  to  the  Bastille ! '  made  for  the  prison, 
belabouring  every  one  she  met  on  the 
way. 

Whilst  all  those  in  positions  of  authority  were 
torn  by  conflicting  motives,  whilst  the  worst 
news  could  hardly  damp  the  ardour  of  some, 
nor  the  best  allay  the  fears  of  many,  most 
lookers-on  were  simply  bewildered.  With 
Fortune"  and  his  companions,  the  majority 
wondered  if  indeed  the  world  were  coming  to 
an  end.  In  one  sense  it  had  ended,  with  a 
vengeance.  They  had  just  arrived,  and  were 
slowly  moving  with  the  crowd,  when  a  distant 
roar  of  voices,  and  sudden  unanimous  halt, 
announced  fresh  tidings.  The  throng  paused 
as  one  man  to  let  a  mounted  messenger  pass 
through  their  midst ;  but  outside  the  compact 
phalanxes,  stragglers  were  running  in  breathless 


206  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

haste,  anxious  to  forestall  his  message  at  the 
Hotel  de  Ville. 

Fortune's  ears  were  abnormally  quick,  his 
movements  also.  With  a  triumphant  huzza,  he 
handed  on  the  news,  to  all  present  weightier 
far  than  that  they  had  heard  before. 

'  The  Governor  and  Intendant  have  fled  ! ' 

Then,  forgetful  of  his  charges,  he  contrived 
to  wriggle  eel-like  through  the  crowd,  and 
off  he  sped,  heading  the  foremost.  Why 
should  he  not  win  the  race  and  the  reward? 
he  thought.  If  the  bearer  of  such  intelligence 
were  not  handsomely  guerdoned,  then  St.  Peter 
himself,  if  despatched  on  an  errand  from  above, 
would  be  sent  away  empty-handed. 

The  Governor  and  Intendant  of  Burgundy 
had  fled  !  It  was  no  less  the  odiousness  of 
the  men  than  of  their  office,  that  now  made 
harmless  citizens  gnash  their  teeth  and  clench 
their  fists  menacingly.  The  very  titles  were 
synonymous  with  cruelty,  extortion,  iron  rule. 
A  governor  and  his  lieutenant  under  the 
ancien  regime  could  no  more  be  humane, 
much  less  just,  than  bashaws  of  a  Turkish 
sultan.  Royal  favour,  place,  even  existence, 
depended  on  their  capacity  for  crushing  the 


THE  COMEDY  OF  REVOLUTION  207 

people,  their  ingenuity  in  wringing  the  last  sou 
from  the  poor. 

In  the  case  of  these  two,  traditional  hateful- 
ness  had  been  amply  justified.  Whilst  the 
peasant  and  his  little  ones  starved,  their 
oppressors  had  amassed  wealth  after  the 
fashion  of  Roman  proconsuls. 

They  were  gone,  however,  none  knew 
whither,  by  summary  flight  staving  off  the 
hour  of  retribution. 

The  first  sullen  outbreak  of  long  pent-up 
animosity  gave  way  to  wild  excitement,  threats 
and  curses  to  frantic  demonstrations  of  joy, 
and  as  in  such  moments  men  do  not  pause  to 
reflect,  being  swayed  by  the  first  impulse, 
whether  for  good  or  evil,  heroism  or  buffoonery, 
so  was  it  now.  The  buxom  goodwife  of  a 
cheap  restaurant  was  hailed  enthusiastically 
as  the  Immortal  Maid,  a  scullion's  turnspit 
acclaimed  reverently  as  the  sacred  Oriflamme. 
Awful  news  flies  apace,  and  the  tidings  just 
heard  raised  popular  feeling  to  fever  pitch. 
All  now  made  way  for  this  jolly  Joan  of  Arc, 
this  modern  Jeanne  Hachette,  destined,  none 
could  doubt,  to  undying  fame.  When  brandish- 
ing her  spit,  she  rushed  forward,  the  press  broke 


208  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

up  :  one  follower  made  a  raid  upon  a  shoe- 
maker's stall,  seizing  awl  and  nippers ;  another 
dashed  into  a  mercer's  shop  and  caught  up  an 
iron  measuring  rod ;  others,  more  daring  and 
bloodthirsty,  laid  hands  upon  butcher's  knife  and 
blacksmith's  hammer  and  tongs.  By  the  time 
the  motley  crowd  reached  its  destination,  such  an 
array  of  domestic  arms  was  formidable  enough, 
whilst  the  shrieks,  yells,  and  groans  of  the 
crowd  might  well  have  intimidated  the  boldest. 

One  prison  under  the  ancien  regime  re- 
sembled another.  The  walls  of  each  could 
witness  of  torture  and  martyrdom,  agonies  long 
drawn  out. 

The  faintest  show  of  compassion,  the  least 
vestige  of  feeling,  would  have  incapacitated 
ministers  of  the  ferocious  criminal  code  then 
in  force. 

But  sentinels  and  jailers  are  flesh  and  blood, 
executioners  and  torturers  are  human — at  least 
to  themselves.  Was  it  likely  that  a  humble  De 
Launay  and  his  underlings  should  coolly  await 
tearing  to  pieces  ? 

When  the  buxom  landlady  of  the  Cheval 
Blanc  drew  up  her  forces  before  the  prison  gates, 
all  was  silent  and  deserted — not  a  gendarme 


THE  COMEDY  OF  REVOLUTION  209 

for  her  followers  to  hustle  away,  not  a  porter 
to  be  parleyed  with  through  the  grating. 

'  To  the  front,  yonder  friend  with  your 
chopper !  Away,  men,  with  mallet  and  hammer. 
Are  we  women  to  free  the  poor  wretches  only 
punished  for  being  without  bread  to  eat  ?  '  cried 
the  good  woman,  working  herself  into  a  frenzy. 
What  with  the  heat  of  the  day,  unaccustomed 
exercise,  and,  it  must  be  admitted,  somewhat 
burdensome  proportions,  her  own  movements 
were  hardly  equal  to  the  occasion. 

'  Your  axe,  neighbour  --  have  a  care  ! ' 
Setting  his  teeth,  wresting  the  tool  from  a 
meek-faced  citizen  standing  by,  Fortune*  sprang 
to  the  front. 

Never  surely  had  he  been  entrusted  with 
task  so  welcome !  As  he  sweated  over  the 
blows,  a  volley  of  threats  and  curses  accom- 
panied each.  The  very  wood  and  iron  seemed 
victims  on  which  to  wreak  vengeance.  Nor 
did  he  want  imitators.  Soon  the  solid  oak 
showed  signs  of  yielding,  it  swayed  beneath 
missiles,  ineffectual  severally,  but  together 
having  the  force  of  a  battering-ram. 

At  length,  amid  a  hurly-burly  that  was  posit- 
ively diabolical,  bars  snapped,  bolts  gave  way, 
14 


210  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

doors  tottered  on  their  hinges.  In  this  little 
Burgundian  town  had  fallen  another  Bastille  ! 

'  Forward,  my  men !  forward,  sweethearts ! ' 
cried  Fortune,  beside  himself  with  triumph. 
'  To  the  rescue  of  our  brethren  within,  chained 
like  wild  beasts,  eaten  up  with  vermin,  scarified 
with  the  cowhide.' 

In  he  rushed,  brandishing  his  axe,  close  on 
his  heels  the  heated,  breathless,  yelling  multi- 
tude, one  and  all  as  excited  as  himself.  Small 
wonder  that  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen. 

'The  cowards  h we'll  whip  'em  soundly  and 
let  'em  go,'  cried  the  leader,  peering  about  for 
jailer  and  turnkey.  From  end  to  end  the  place 
remained  silent  as  a  tomb, 

At  length,  at  the  extremity  of  one  dark,  damp 
corridor,  something  did  certainly  move.  A 
dozen  stout  fellows  prepared  for  the  important 
capture.  But  instead  of  frightened  minion 
rushed  forth  a  pretty,  tame,  well-fed  cat,  in 
the  stampede  of  an  hour  before  forgotten  by 
its  mistress,  the  porter's  daughter. 

Execrations  were  now  replaced  by  uproarious 
laughter,  puss  was  caught  up,  stroked,  fondled, 
then  the  search  began  afresh. 

'  Ho  there ! '  Fortune^  shouted  at  the  top  of 


THE  COMEDY  OF  REVOLUTION  211 

his  voice;  '  where  are  you,  my  brothers  ?  Never 
fear,  no  matter  your  deeds — highway  robbery  > 
assassination,  false  coinage,  even  heresy  itself 
—you  are  delivered.  Instead  of  rack,  gibbet, 
and  wheel,  a  hearty  welcome,  wine  and  a 
bellyful,  ay,  and  money  too,  await  you !  Give 
a  sign,  then  ! ' 

Still  not  a  sound  emerged  from  the  blank 
walls  on  either  side. 

'  Sure  enough  the  poor  wretches  are  gagged. 
Don't  I  know  how  prettily  we  are  made  to  hold 
our  tongues  in  these  snug  quarters ! '  muttered 
Fortune"  between  his  teeth.  '  But  we'll  soon 
see.  Can  any  one  find  a  tinder-box  ? ' 

Groping  about  in  the  semi  -  twilight,  he 
stumbled  upon  a  crouching  figure. 

'  By  the  holy  apostles !  a  woman,  worn  to  a 
skeleton,  in  her  shift,  cold  as  death !  Cheer 
up,  sister,  we'll  bring  some  colour  into  your 
white  cheeks — ay,  cover  those  bare  bones  of 
yours.  A  way — clear  a  way,  good  folks !  let 
every  mother's  son  see  how  honest  women  are 
treated  in  the  king's  prison  ! ' 

Triumphantly  shouldering  his  burden,  the 
little  man  backed  towards  the  light,  cheering 
up  the  victim  as  he  went,  the  throng  retreating 


212  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

also.  And  once  more  execration  gave  way  to 
laughter,  tragedy  to  burlesque.  No  wretched 
prisoner  was  this  —  instead,  a  dressmaker's 
dummy,  used  by  Mademoiselle  Aline,  the  con- 
cierge's daughter,  in  making  her  own  gowns. 
When  was  opportunity  for  merrymaking  wasted 
on  a  French  crowd  ?  Finding  the  prison  tenant- 
less,  cells  empty,  porter's  lodge  and  turnkey's 
posts  abandoned,  the  multitude  gave  itself 
up  to  carnival. 

The  manikin  was  born  in  triumphal  pro- 
cession through  the  town,  and  not  till  every 
cabaret  had  been  patronised,  till  voices  grew 
hoarse  and  heads  ached,  did  even  the  mistress 
of  the  Cheval  Blanc  recover  her  senses. 

When  Fortune  recovered  his  own,  he  found 
the  tables  turned  with  a  vengeance.  Instead  of 
a  dozen  prisoners  being  let  out,  one  had  been 
locked  in,  Douce  and  Finette  distractedly 
seeking  their  protector  till  nightfall.  Then, 
tearful  and  downcast,  the  terrified  women  be- 
took themselves  to  their  destination. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

RED,    WHITE,    AND    BLUE  ! 

WHILST  Pernelle  entered  heart  and  soul  into 
the  daily  event,  Laurent  grew  more  and  more 
self-centred.  All  the  dogged  sternness  of 
Huguenot  ancestry  now  came  out.  He  dared 
not  accuse  his  cousin  and  patroness  of  spiriting 
Finette  away,  but  the  poor  child  was  gone,  and 
her  flight  could  only  be  attributed  to  one  cause, 
Pernelle's  fatal  benevolence,  her  ambitious 
views  for  himself,  her  stickling  by  family 
advancement.  Gratitude  had  no  longer  any 
place  in  the  young  man's  heart,  admiration 
was  turned  to  disapproval,  the  liking  of  years 
vanished  in  an  hour. 

He  returned  to  work,  Finette's  gentle  image 
ever  before  him,  determined,  come  what  might, 
to  keep  his  troth.  As  yet  not  a  word  beyond 
commonplace  greeting  had  passed  between 
the  pair  since  the  painful  explanation  of  weeks 


213 


214  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

before.  Pernelle  held  coldly,  or  perhaps  in- 
differently aloof;  Laurent  behaved  as  usual, 
only  with  more  studied  respect  and  emphasised 
humility.  And  meanwhile  the  clock  and 
Revolution  moved  apace.  To  the  good  Dijon- 
nais  it  seemed  as  if  their  Fleming  on  the  top 
of  Notre  Dame  had  caught  the  general  fever, 
so  alertly  he  raised  his  arm,  so  energetically  he 
wielded  his  hammer. 

On  the  evening  that  followed  the  great 
news  from  Paris,  Laurent  awaited  his  mistress 
in  the  pretty  room,  boudoir,  bedchamber,  and 
counting  house  combined,  leading  out  of  the 
shop.  Houseroom  was  expensive  at  Dijon, 
and  the  Beautiful  Mercer  here  received  alike 
guests  and  customers,  signed  negotiations  and 
paid  wages. 

To  her  penniless,  outlawed  kinsman  the 
girl  generously  allowed  a  certain  sum  monthly 
for  clothes  and  necessaries,  Uncle  Parfait  con- 
tributing towards  the  expense  of  his  apprentice- 
ship. Laurent  had  now  come  for  this  dole, 
never  before  accepted  with  such  reluctance. 
It  was  a  night  of  intense  sultriness,  and 
although  the  sun  had  set,  shutters  were  still 
closed  to  keep  out  the  dazzling  after-glow.  In 


RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE/  215 

semi-twilight  he  stood  by  the  window,  gazing 
fixedly,  but  seeing  nothing,  the  very  imper- 
sonation of  sullen  resolve. 

All  at  once  the  door  flew  open  and  Pernelle 
entered,  behind  her  a  tall  figure  he  did  not 
at  first  recognise.  Throwing  the  shutters  wide, 
greeting  her  protege  in  the  unconstrained  tone 
of  former  days,  she  turned  to  the  new-comer. 

'  Dear,  dear  uncle ! '  she  cried  in  the  clear, 
exquisitely  sweet  and  penetrating  voice  that 
might  well  have  done  duty  for  loveliness.  '  A 
kiss  first  and  your  great  news  afterwards.' 

The  armourer  threw  down  his  cloak  and  bag, 
took  off  his  hat,  deliberately  wiped  the  dust 
of  twenty-four  hours'  posting  from  his  face, 
then,  rapturously  as  lovers,  uncle  and  niece 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms.  Only  Pernelle 
had  ever  reached  the  depths  of  this  outwardly 
cold,  rugged  nature ;  only  Nesmond  made 
Pernelle  smile  as  a  girl  smiles  upon  her  lover. 
Intellectually  the  two  were  one. 

'  Here  is  Laurent,  I  see.  Who  else  has  a 
better  right  to  share  our  confidence  ?  '•  said 
the  elder  man,  holding  out  his  hand.  'Who 
has  greater  reason  to  welcome  the  badge  of 
liberty  ? ' 


216  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Laurent  glanced  imploringly  at  his  cousin, 
and  uttered  a  word  of  proud  deprecation.  Too 
much  engrossed  to  heed  either  look  or  speech, 
Nesmond  added — 

'  The  Bastille  has  fallen,  as  you  know.  That 
is  but  the  beginning,  the  end  we  shall  not  see 
yet.  Meantime  '- 

He  had  spoken  with  both  arms  resting  on 
his  valise.  Watching  Pernelle's  face,  evidently 
anticipating  her  enthusiasm,  he  now  slowly 
undid  the  straps,  and,  without  disclosing  the 
contents,  drew  forth  a  rosette  of  coloured 
ribbon,  red,  white,  and  blue  in  equal  propor- 
tions. Bending  forward,  solemnly,  even 
piously,  he  fastened  it  to  the  maiden's  bodice, 
kissing  the  token  when  his  task  was  over. 

'  Red  and  blue,  the  colours  of  Paris  ? ' 
asked  Pernelle ;  '  white,  the  emblem  of 
royalty  ? ' 

'Say  of  tyranny,'  broke  in  the  armourer, 
much  moved  ;  '  but  Paris  has  conquered,  Paris 
has  saved  the  liberties  of  the  world !  Hence- 
forth her  Tricolour  is  the  flag  of  France ! 
Wear  it  proudly,  girl.  Try  to  live  very  long— 
the  greybeards  can  but  sow  the  seeds,  for  your 
children's  children  to  reap  the  harvest.' 


RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE/  217 

Pernelle  pressed  her  lips  to  the  badge,  but 
could  not  trust  herself  to  speak. 

'  And  you,  Laurent,'  added  Parfait,  holding 
out  a  second  favour.  '  Little  did  I  dream,  my 
poor  lad,  that  I  should  ever  see  such  a  day — 
each  man's  conscience  his  own — the  Huguenot, 
the  Jew,  ay,  even  the  negro,  equal  in  the 
eyes  of  the  law !  Let  us  for  a  moment  set 
other  creeds  aside  and  adore  the  power  of 
retribution ! ' 

All  three  bowed  their  heads  as  if  in  prayer. 

'  Blessed  symbol ! '  cried  Nesmond  in  a 
low,  deep  voice.  '  To  be  tarnished,  trampled 
under  foot  without  doubt,  and  perhaps  by  those 
whom  thou  hast  delivered,  but  vanquished, 
never !  Oh !  flag  of  France,  flag  of  liberty, 
may  we  prove  worthy  of  thee,  may  we  proudly 
proclaim  thy  mission  to  the  world ! ' 

'  Amen ! '  murmured  the  others,  Laurent 
dropping  on  one  knee,  Pernelle  with  rapt  face 
and  clasped  hands. 

A  moment  passed  thus,  then  Parfait  turned 
to  his  knapsack.  All  three  welcomed  a  relief 
from  too  solemn  mood. 

'  Patriotism  first,'  said  the  armourer,  smiling 
grimly,  'business  afterwards.  I  had  an  eye 


218  .1  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

to  both,  niece,  in  posting  hither  (I  must  leave 
for  Paris  again  to-morrow).  Look  here  :  if  I 
have  not  put  at  least  a  thousand  livres  into 
your  pocket,  my  name  is  other  than  Nesmond.' 

He  walked  to  the  door,  peered  out,  re- 
closed  it  carefully,  then,  opening  his  kit,  dis- 
played rolls  of  red,  white,  and  blue  ribbon. 

'  Now,  Pernelle,  you  have  the  start  of  all 
the  mercers  in  Dijon  —  ay,  in  Burgundy! 
Forego  a  few  hours'  sleep,  bribe  or  coax  the 
little  girls  and  your  apprentices,  every  one  in  the 
house,  to  do  the  same.  By  to-morrow  morning 
you  will  have  favours  enough  for  all  Dijon,  and 
hucksters  hereabouts  to  boot.' 

Pernelle  thanked  him  warmly,  and  promised 
to  lose  no  time,  Not  only  would  public  spirit 
but  interest  quicken  her  fingers,  she  said. 
The  shrewd  tradeswoman  knew  well  what  store 
her  uncle  set  by  practical  qualities. 

He  watched  her  take  out  the  balls  of  ribbon, 
chuckling  with  triumph. 

'  I  should  like  to  see  your  rivals  over  the 
way  when  you  take  down  your  shutters  to- 
morrow morning.  Three  or  four  hundred 
crowns  ahead  of  'em  all,  as  I  live  !  And  before 
I  forget  it,  niece,  I  wrote  to  your  people  at 


RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE.'  219 

_« 

Lyofis,  ordering  a  gross  of  each  ribbon — you 
will  get  goods  and  invoice  by  next  post.  Well, 
I  must  leave  you  to  your  cockade  -  making. 
Come,  Laurent,  cannot  you  help  your  betrothed 
and  her  maidens  in  the  job  —  cut  lengths, 
ticket  off,  pack,  or  do  something  to  aid  the 
ladies  ? ' 

Laurent  stood  dumbfounded.  Pernelle  awoke 
as  from  a  reverie.  Up  to  that  moment  personal 
affairs  and  embarrassments  had  seemed  trivial, 
less  than  nothing,  to  both. 

The  girl  generously  defended  her  kinsman. 

'  I  forgot  that  I  had  not  told  you,'  she  said, 
anxious  to  get  over  the  unpleasant  disclosure 
as  quickly  as  possible.  '  I  acted  with  some 
precipitation.  Anxious  to  serve  Laurent,  I  lost 
sight  of  one  possibility,  that  he  might  entertain 
other  views  for  his  own  future,  have  placed  his 
affections  elsewhere.  Thus  indeed  it  is,  and 
there  is  an  end  of  the  matter.' 

The  armourer's  habitually  stern  face  grew  a 
shade  sterner.  Romance  had  no  part  in  his 
ethical  programme.  Marriage,  above  all  other 
relations  of  life,  should  be  in  accordance  with 
the  seemly,  the  befitting — boyish,  girlish  fancy 
subject  to  reason.  Love,  in  the  sentimental 


220  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

acceptation  of  the  word,  savoured   to  him  of 
something  worse  than  folly. 

For  a  moment  he  eyed  his  nephew,  too 
indignant  for  reproach ;  then,  with  keen  glance 
fixed  on  the  young  man's  pale,  resolute  face, 
he  said — 

'  Is  this  the  way  you  repay  her  who  has 
been  the  providence  of  your  family  ?  The 
name  of  this  unhappy  girl,  sirrah  ? — unhappy 
she  must  be  in  having  anything  to  do  with  one 
so  reckless,  so  ungrateful ! ' 

The  angry  speaker  looked  from  one  to  the 
other.  Pernelle  hoped  by  silence  to  ward  off 
the  storm,  Laurent  desperately  rushed  to  meet 
its  fury. 

'  Cast  me  off  if  you  will,  uncle.  In  wedding 
Finette,  the  foundling,  I  defy  my  kinsfolk,  but 
not  my  conscience.' 

Nesmond  turned  away  as  from  a  gibbering 
maniac.  Neither  aversion  nor  exactly  dis- 
pleasure were  written  on  his  face,  rather  the 
pity  engendered  of  contempt. 

'  The  poor  fool  has  no  father.  He  must  just 
go  downhill  as  fast  as  he  pleases.' 

'  Is  affection  nothing  ?  Is  a  man's  word  no- 
thing ? '  Laurent  asked  bitterly.  His  Huguenot 


RED,  WHITE,  AND  BLUE/  221 

blood  was  stirred,  opposition  but  rendered  him 
more  aggressive. 

'  And  a  respectable  position  in  life,  bread  to 
eat,  clothes  to  wear,  not  only  for  oneself,  but 
for  wife  and  children  —  are  these  nothing?' 
was  the  still  bitterer  retort.  '  I  should  have 
thought  your  father's  family  had  been  already 
dragged  down  low  enough  by  fanaticism  of 
other  kind  '- 

Pernelle  touched  her  uncle's  arm  entreatingly. 
Laurent  no  longer  sought  to  control  himself. 

'  Insult  me  if  you  will,  sir,  but  at  least  respect 
my  religion.' 

'  Religion,  forsooth !  Will  religion  suffice 
for  the  body  ?  And  the  body  has  to  be  first 
thought  of,  whatever  priests  and  pastors  may 
say.  Will  religion  repay  your  cousin,  establish 
you  in  life,  maintain  your  family,  enable  you  to 
hold  up  your  head  ?  Look  realities  in  the  face. 
Confess  yourself  a  visionary,  a  dupe.' 

'  Dear  uncle,  remember  how  much  he  has 
suffered  already,'  Pernelle  put  in  softly. 

Beside  himself  with  irritation,  the  armourer 
continued— 

'  Are  you  stone  blind  ?  Do  you  not  see 
that  the  reign  of  these  self-deluded  teachers  is 


222  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

over  ?  Give  me  that  ribbon  on  your  breast, 
symbol  of  more  rational  creeds  and  humaner 
doctrines.  Hold  fast  to  your  dreams  and 
vagaries.  Let  them  console  you  as  best  they 
can.' 

He  moved  forward,  and  with  rough  gesture 
would  fain  have  wrenched  off  the  favour, 
Laurent  as  roughly  averted  the  action ;  on 
both  sides  there  was  a  rise  of  hasty  passion. 
Swift  as  lightning,  Pernelle  caught  each  offend- 
ing hand. 

'  Oh,'  she  cried,  '  shall  this  thrice  happy  day 
be  desecrated  by  family  quarrels  ?  Uncle,  I 
cannot  find  it  in  my  heart  to  blame  Laurent. 
For  my  sake,  then,  do  you  forgive  him  and 
wish  him  well.' 

The  pair,  outwardly  reconciled,  inwardly  full 
of  bitterness  and  resentment,  exchanged  sullen 
greeting,  then  went  away. 

Pernelle  betook  herself  to  her  task  somewhat 
sadly.  Must  every  noble  emotion  be  thus 
degraded  by  pettiness  and  personalities  ? 


CHAPTER   XIX 

PERNELLE'S  VIGIL 

ON  Thursday  evenings,  in  days  of  Revolution 
as  now,  a  military  band  played  at  the  entrance 
of  the  beautiful  Dijon  park,  all  the  townsfolk 
flocking  thither  to  hear  the  music  and  chat  with 
neighbours.  To-night  Berthe  and  Barbe  had 
enjoyed  the  treat,  returning  home  under  safe 
chaperonage  as  the  Fleming  struck  nine. 
Pernelle,  rigid  disciplinarian  in  all  things,  ever 
insisted  upon  punctual  return.  Five  minutes 
behind  time  meant  forefeiture  of  next  week's 
privilege. 

'  Children,  children,  come  here !  See  what 
Uncle  Parfait  has  brought  you  from  Paris,'  cried 
the  elder  sister  when  she  heard  their  voices 
outside. 

'  Oh,  Berthe,'  whispered  Barbe,  '  our  new- 
fans,  perhaps,  or  our  silk  reticules  ! ' 

The  twins  would  drop  hints  in  Nesmond's 

223 


224  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

presence  of  what  they  hoped  to  get  on  approach- 
ing name-day  or  New  Year  ;  the  mere  fact  of 
having  given  godparents  such  an  opportunity 
seeming  an  assurance  of  possession. 

'  Humph  !' retorted  Berthe  contemptuously. 
'  I  hope  it  is  something  more  worth  having  than 
a  trumpery  fan  or  hand-bag.  You  forget  all 
about  the  States  General  and  Uncle  Parfait 
being  deputy.  He  would  at  least  bring  us  a 
gold  snuff-box ! ' 

Pernelle,  without  rising  from  her  table,  the 
heap  of  ribbons  lighted  up  by  a  lamp,  beckoned 
the  pair  to  approach. 

'  Look/  she  said,  holding  out  a  tricolour 
rosette  to  each.  '  This  is  now  the  ensign  of 
France,  our  country.  All  who  wear  it  must 
love  her,  serve  her,  as  hitherto  folks  have 
served  kings  and  queens.' 

Berthe  took  up  the  favour  with  ill-concealed 
disappointment.  Barbe,  ready  to  cry  of  vexa- 
tion, still  acted  her  little  part.  Whilst  her  twin 
sister  was  turning  and  twisting  the  badge,  half 
in  the  mind  to  throw  it  down,  Barbe  officiously 
appropriated  her  own,  looking  up  as  much  as  to 
say — What  do  I  not  deserve  for  my  under- 
standing— my  patriotism  ? 


PERNELLE' S  VlttTL  225' 

Pernelle,  too  busy  to  notice  their  behaviour, 
now  applied  a  stronger  test. 

'  Those  who  wear  the  Tricolour  are  expected 
to  prove  worthy  of  it.  How  many  hours' 
sleep  will  you  both  sacrifice  to-night  for  the 
Patrie  ? ' 

Barbe  eyed  Berthe,  Berthe  eyed  Barbe.  Both 
were  glum. 

'  Understand,  children,'  Pernelle  went  on, 
in  a  voice  rather  of  persuasion  than  authority, 
*  you  shall  not  be  called  so  early  in  the  morning. 
But  these  rolls  of  red,  blue,  and  white  ribbon 
must  be  made  up  into  rosettes  by  the  time  we 
open  our  shutters.' 

'  Why  must  they  ? '  asked  Berthe,  with  a 
blank  look. 

'  Why  ?  because  every  one  will  want  to  buy.' 

'  And  why  should  every  one  want  to  buy  ? ' 

Pernelle  tossed  her  head  impatiently.  '  Have 
I  not  explained  matters  a  dozen  times  ?  Do 
you  not  see  with  your  own  eyes,  hear  with  your 
own  ears,  what  is  going  on  ?  We  are  living  in 
days  of  Revolution  ? ' 

'  Will  the  Revolution  do  us  any  good  ? ' 
asked  Barbe. 

'  Does  France  hold  only  two  inhabitants,  by 
15 


226  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

name  Berthe  and  Barbe  Nesmond  ? '  Pernelle 
replied  severely.  '  But  no  more  of  this  foolish 
talk.  Will  you  help  me  or  will  you  not? 
Mind,  I  leave  you  free  to  decide.  Patriotic 
service  should  ever  be  voluntary.' 

Berthe  for  the  life  of  her  could  not  help  the 
fatal  query — 

'  You  will,  of  course,  give  us  something,  sister, 
just  as  you  pay  your  workwomen  for  over- 
time ?' 

Before  Pernelle  could  make  contemptuous 
answer,  Barbe  self-applaudingly  whipped  out 
her  housewife. 

'  Here  I  am,  sister,  ready  to  stitch  my  finger 
to  the  bone — no  mercenariness  in  me.' 

The  veneer  was  too  transparent.  Both 
minxes  were  ordered  to  bed,  and  Pernelle  went 
on  with  her  cockade-making  alone. 

Hardly  had  the  door  closed  than  irritation 
gave  way  to  ardour,  exalted  hopes  and  bright 
fancies  replaced  personal  annoyance.  No  fingers 
in  all  Dijon,perhaps  in  all  France,  so  skilful  as 
those  of  the  Beautiful  Mercer !  To-night  they 
were  apparently  endowed  with  superhuman 
speed  and  dexterity.  Holding  her  ribbons  in 
one  small  expressive  hand,  in  the  other,  needle 


PERNELLE'S  VIGIL  227 

and  thread,  rosette  followed  rosette  into  the 
basket  at  her  feet,  as  from  conjurer's  table.  All 
were  fashioned  after  the  same  pattern,  yet  each 
possessed  a  grace  of  its  own.  Again  and  again 
Pernelle  had  been  pressed  into  serving  some 
Parisian  house.  The  Beautiful  Milliner  of  Dijon 
put  many  a  city  rival  to  shame  in  the  matter  of 
bows  and  shoulder  knots.  Madame  de  Se"  vigne" 
describes  a  certain  marquis  whose  graceful 
salutation  of  partner  at  the  dance  was  absolutely 
unapproachable.  No  one  knew  how  it  was 
done,  but  he  made  his  obeisance  so  super- 
latively as  to  be  thereby  immortalised  in  her 
pages.  Let  none  sneer  at  such  immortality — 
better  that  renown  than  many  a  bloodstained 
aureole ! 

Pernelle's  manipulation  of  ribbon  deserved  a 
similar  honour.  The  yards  of  blue,  red,  and 
white  took  shape  and  elegance  without  any  sign 
of  effort  on  her  part,  proved  subservient  to  her 
will  as  clay  in  the  potter's  hand.  She  had  indeed 
no  time  for  criticising  her  own  work.  The 
hammer-woman  opposite  struck  the  half-hours, 
her  spouse  still  more  sonorously  sounded  the 
hours,  and  faster  and  faster  fell  her  rosettes, 
swifter  and  swifter  moved  thread  and  scissors. 


228  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

not  for  a  single  instant  did  her  energy  flag, 
not  for  a  moment  was  she  conscious  of  bodily 
fatigue. 

There  is  an  inherent  elasticity  in  French 
temperaments  that  often  does  duty  for  sheer 
personal  strength,  a  power  of  resistance  not  to 
be  computed  of  muscle  or  proportions.  This 
slender  girl,  accustomed  from  childhood  up- 
wards to  activity  both  of  mind  and  body, 
accustomed  moreover  to  forgetfulness  of  self, 
was  a  type.  Here  showed  the  bourgeoise  at 
her  best,  no  faculty  wasted,  no  natural  gift 
infructuose  from  disuse. 

How,  indeed,  whilst  thus  occupied,  could 
she  dwell  on  personal  affairs  ?  To  the  ardent 
young  patriot  such  a  task  was  sacred,  its  fulfil- 
ment high  privilege. 

Snapping  off  thread  with  her  beautiful  teeth 
as  milliners  will,  automatically  clipping  lengths 
of  ribbon,  giving  that  last  adorable  touch  of 
finger  and  thumb  to  each  token,  she  followed  in 
fancy  the  mission  of  these  baubles — no  more  to 
the  eye,  but  endowed  with  talismanic  charm, 
each  a  sign  and  a  seal  of  brotherhood,  alike 
symbol  and  guarantee  of  new  conditions  and 
ideals. 


PERNELLE'S  VIGIL  229 

Pernelle  had  travelled  more  than  most 
Frenchwomen,  had  visited  Lyons  and  St.  Etienne 
for  the  purchase  of  silks  and  ribbons,  Le  Puy 
and  Alengon  for  the  selection  of  lace,  even 
Marseilles  in  order  to  buy  West  Indian  gauzes. 
She  had  realised  the  poverty  and  degradation  of 
the  peasant ;  the  iniquity  of  a  triple  law,  royal, 
seigneurial,  provincial ;  the  hideousness  of  the 
criminal  code ;  the  dire  effects  of  the  Revoca- 
tion. 

Fresh  in  memory  were  the  sufferings  of  her 
mother's  family,  beggared,  outlawed,  tortured, 
put  to  horrible  deaths  on  account  of  their 
religion ;  fresh  too  in  her  memory  the  periodic 
famines  effected  by  royal  ordinance,  men, 
women,  and  babes  dying  of  hunger  whilst  the 
Bourbon  despot  held  orgy  in  his  seraglio ! 

And,  young  as  she  was,  she  could  remember 
the  sight  of  the  king's  galley-slaves  passing 
through  Dijon,  chained  in  pairs,  lacerated  with 
stripes,  their  tattered  garments  swarming  with 
vermin,  worn  to  skeletons  by  hunger  and  bar- 
barous treatment.  And  their  crimes  ?  This 
poor  wretch  had  defrauded  the  king  of  a  pound 
of  salt,  that  had  harboured  a  Huguenot ;  here  was 
deserter  from  an  army  paid  with  blows,  naked- 


230  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

ness,  and  want,  there  an  aged  Protestant 
minister,  his  only  offence  being  love  of  the 
Bible. 

But  Pernelle  recalled  more  recent  horrors. 
Not  many  years  before,  a  smuggler  had  been 
publicly  broken  on  the  wheel  at  Dijon,  none 
permitted  to  deal  the  final  blow  and  put  an 
end  to  eighteen  hours'  agony. 

Oh,  she  mused  amid  her  tricolour  surround- 
ings, the  French  people  have  suffered,  Heaven 
knows  how  much !  May  they  prove  pitiful  in 
their  hour  of  triumph  ;  may  their  vengeance  be 
justice  and  mercy ! 

Following  this  line  of  thought,  she  forecast 
the  morrow,  anticipated  the  future.  She  saw 
the  nation  rousing  itself  as  at  a  trumpet-blast  ; 
the  oppressor  brought  face  to  face  with  his 
victim ;  the  weak  venturing  to  confront  the 
strong ;  from  end  to  end  of  the  land,  a  mighty 
rising  up  and  levelling  down.  Then  she  beheld 
with  the  mind's  eye,  as  in  a  vision,  an  august 
figure,  new  and  strange  to  all  beholders,  for  the 
first  time  and  universally,  worshipped,  no  other 
power  contending  her  sway. 

Had  Justice  or  Retribution  become  the  arbi- 
trator, the  destiny  of  France  ?  She  paused 


PERNELL&S  VIGIL  231 

aghast  at  the  last  image  called  up,  trying  to  for- 
get her  uncle's  words.  But  the  mere  recollec- 
tion for  a  moment  spoiled,  even  stayed  her 
task.  What  if  these  badges,  so  glowingly 
fashioned,  so  hopefully  breathed  over,  should 
engender  feuds  rather  than  brotherhood, 
enmity  instead  of  peace  ?  What  if  her  own 
fingers  should  sow  the  seeds  of  deadly  hate 
and  implacable  reprisals  ? 

The  Fleming  struck  midnight ;  one  large 
basket  was  brimful  of  favours,  and  still  yards 
upon  yards  of  ribbon  remained. 

Pernelle  was  about  to  begin  again,  when  she 
heard  a  soft  tap  on  the  shutter  outside. 

'  Don't  be  startled,  niece,'  said  the  armourer. 
'  I  knew  I  should  find  you  at  work,  but  now 
put  by  and  come  with  me.' 

She  hastened  to  let  him  in,  her  first  impulse 
being  of  alarm.  Something  unexpected  had 
surely  happened  in  Paris  ?  Perhaps  all  was  at 
an  end,  the  Revolution  throttled  in  its  birth- 
throes,  only  direr  and  yet  direr  tyranny  in 
store  ? 

The  sight  of  her  uncle's  face  put  an  end  to 
misgiving.  A  look  of  positive  exhilaration  lit 
up  the  usually  stern  features,  contrasted  as 


232  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

sunset  gleam  on  granite  crag,  smile  and  rugged 
outline. 

'Throw  a  scarf  about  your  head,'  added  the 
intruder,  giving  no  time  for  questions,  ( and 
something  about  your  shoulders.  It  may  be 
cool  up  yonder.' 

So  saying,  he  pointed  to  the  Ducal  Tower, 
now  standing  out  like  a  monolith  of  bronze 
against  the  clear,  silvery  heavens. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE    BEACON    FIRES 

PERNELLE  wonderingly  followed  her  conductor 
as  he  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  the  Palace, 
ancient  residence  of  sovereign  dukes,  for  three 
hundred  years  seat  of  the  Burgundian  Parlia- 
ment and  States  General ;  since  yesterday 
become  national  property,  one  citadel  more 
crowned  with  the  Tricolour!  Sultry  as  had 
been  the  day,  a  breeze  now  freshened  the  air. 
Nesmond  raised  his  coat  collar,  and  Pernelle 
tightened  her  shawl. 

'  It  will  be  cooler  still  when  we  reach  the 
top,'  laughed  Nesmond — he  seemed  in  strangest 
humour ;  she  never  remembered  him  so  garru- 
lous, so  expansive — '  and  I  suppose  you  are 
asking  yourself  how  we  are  to  get  inside  the 
Palace  at  all  ?  This  is  the  Open  Sesame, 
the  universal  key  throughout  France  nowa- 
days.' 


233 


234  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

As  he  spoke  he  pointed  to  his  deputy's  badge, 
adding  grimly — 

'And  lettre  de  cachet  also!  If  we  open 
prison  doors  to  the  innocent,  we  must  close 
them  upon  the  guilty.  But  have  a  care,  my 
girl!' 

Through  the  narrow,  ill -lighted,  ill -paved 
streets,  it  was  not  easy  to  pick  safe  or  cleanly 
way.  The  opulent,  dazzling  capital  could  boast 
of  few  conveniences  for  belated  loungers.  Here 
some  housewife  had  discharged  her  dust-bin, 
there  another  had  emptied  her  scourings  ;  now 
the  unwary  stumbled  upon  curled-up  beggar, 
now  he  ran  against  half-drowsy  watchman. 

A  few  minutes  brought  the  pair  to  the  Palace 
gates,  hitherto  guarded  so  royally  by  hussar 
and  halberdier,  to-day  sentinelled  only  by  a 
couple  of  gendarmes. 

Few  folks  were  abroad.  The  side-streets 
were  solitary,  but  in  the  Place  d'Armes  a  group 
had  collected,  all  talking  in  low,  eager  tones. 

Pernelle  found  herself  among  friends.  The 
first  to  greet  her  was  a  worthy  gingerbread 
merchant,  whose  bakery  equalled  in  size  and 
fame  the  celebrated  ducal  kitchen  ;  next  came 
up  a  fabricator  of  the  unrivalled  local  liqueur 


THE  BEACON  FIRES  235 

made  from  black  currants ;  a  third  owned  large 
mustard-beds  in  the  Plat  de  Langres ;  a  fourth 
carried  on  the  ever-prosperous  business  of  pill- 
making,  from  time  immemorial  Dijon  boasting 
of  its  superiority  in  this  article  of  commerce. 
When  pills  are  appetising,  folks  will  take  them 
whether  ailing  or  no,  and  whilst  other  industries 
flagged,  bolus-making  throve  like  a  young  bay 
tree. 

The  four  men,  since  yesterday  become  im- 
portant civic  authorities,  with  one  or  two  others, 
now  followed  Nesmond  and  his  companion  in- 
side. As  doors  flew  open  and  officials  fell  back, 
the  armourer  could  not  resist  a  smile.  To  have 
put  his  thoughts  into  words  would  savour  of 
arrogance  amid  these  liveries  and  insignia  of 
a  vanished  autocracy,  a  regime  fallen  with  the 
Bastille.  He  only  whispered  in  his  niece's  ear — 

'  When  the  fox  smells  a  trap,  the  cocks  may 
crow. ' 

He  alluded  to  Governor  and  Intendant,  a  few 
days  before  enthroned  with  Oriental  sway,  now 
fled  for  their  lives.  The  Burgundian  Parlia- 
ment had  voluntarily  surrendered  its  authority. 
Dijon,  foremost  of  French  towns,  joined  hands 
with  Revolution. 


236  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

One  by  one,  and  in  silence,  the  little  party 
climbed  the  stone  staircase,  a  servant,  lantern 
in  hand,  leading  the  way. 

The  Ducal  Tower,  or  Tower  of  the  Terrace, 
so  graceful  without,  when  reached  from  within 
suggests  pleasure  rather  than  warfare,  courtly 
loungers  rather  than  military  reconnaitre. 

Below  lie  dungeons  of  sinister  legend ;  the 
airy  platform  above  were  more  fitly  dedicated 
to  lay  or  romance. 

On  a  clear  summer  day,  nothing  can  be 
brighter,  more  ingratiating  than  the  panorama. 
All  Burgundy  lies  spread  at  the  gazer's  feet,  no 
land  of  surprise,  but  of  grace  and  geniality,  a 
land  inspiring  confidence  in  its  inhabitants. 

To-night,  alike  the  dazzling  tints  of  vineyard 
and  pasture  were  obscured ;  invisible  too  the 
lovely  blossom  of  the  buckwheat,  fields  of  flower 
the  hue  of  sea  foam  amid  the  green  and  the 
gold.  Featureless  the  Golden  Hills,  lately 
flecked  with  rich  purple  and  crimson  shadow ; 
one  vast  monotone  the  eastern  plain,  by  day 
a  chequered  scene  of  glorious  colour.  What 
colour,  indeed,  is  not  glorious  under  the  warm 
Burgundian  heaven  ? 

If  outline  and  detail  were  lost,  night  enhanced 


THE  BEACON  FIRES  237 

the  sense  of  space.  As  the  beholders  looked 
down  from  their  lofty  vantage-ground,  they 
seemed  to  survey  not  only  a  province,  but 
France  itself;  measureless  as  starry  cope  over- 
head the  dusk,  beacon-lit  world  below.  And 
as  star  followed  star,  every  moment  a  new 
cresset  appearing  in  the  steely  blue  sky,  so 
the  vast  gloom  beneath  showed  gradually 
kindling  fires.  No  sooner  was  a  blaze  dis- 
cerned in  one  direction  than  corresponding 
flames  shot  up  in  another,  by  degrees  the  scene 
being  illuminated  from  east  to  west.  Grand 
yet  awful  was  the  spectacle,  all  the  grander,  the 
more  awful  because  of  its  significance. 

Whilst  her  companions,  leaning  over  the 
parapet,  talked  to  each  other  in  undertones, 
Pernelle  gazed  silently,  not  at  first  realising  the 
truth.  On  a  sudden  she  caught  Nesmond's 
arm. 

'  Uncle/  she  cried  in  a  tone  of  consternation, 
'these  are  no  beacon  fires,  but  incendiaries. 
Yonder  burns  the  chateau  of  Luz  ;  that  of  Til- 
Chatel  too  blazes.  The  towns  aflame  farther 
off  must  be  on  the  Saone.  I  see  the  gleam 
of  the  river,  and  nearer,  almost  underneath,  it 
seems ' — 


238  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

She  stopped  short,  speechless  with  horror. 
The  armourer  turned  from  his  companions,  and 
answered  coolly — 

'  On  the  outskirts  of  the  forest  ?  That  is  the 
chateau  of  Velours.  Humph  !  much  good  will 
the  poor  fools  get  for  their  pains ! ' 

The  others  tittered. 

'A  kinder-natured  fellow  than  the  Marquis 
de  Velours  never  lived/  said  the  great  baker; 
'  but  he  is  a  marquis,  worse  luck  for  him  ! ' 

'  The  Count  de  Luz  is  no  villain  either,'  put 
in  the  distiller  ;  '  only  a  count — as  he  will  now 
find  to  his  cost.'  . 

'  And  as  to  the  seigneur  of  Til-Chatel,'  quoth 
the  mustard  manufacturer,  '  he  will  hang  for  his 
ancestors  ;  that  is  quite  certain.' 

The  fourth  added  in  the  same  tone,  not  wholly 
of  indifference,  yet  without  a  trace  of  horror — 

'  Yonder  great  lord  on  the  Saone,  whose 
towers  make  such  a  conflagration,  his  crimes 
too  are  hundreds  of  years  old.  Let  him  beware 
of  the  usurers  ! ' 

Pernelle  could  hardly  believe  her  ears.  Each 
speaker  was  an  old  acquaintance.  She  knew 
the  inoffensive  character  of  these  men,  their  up- 
rightness in  business,  their  excellent  domestic 


THE  BEACON  FIRES  239 

qualities,  their  benignity  to  the  poor.  Yet  they 
could  calmly  behold  such  a  scene  as  this — a 
province  given  up  to  fire,  pillage,  and  perhaps 
massacre  ? 

'  Oh,  uncle !  oh,  sirs ! '  she  cried,  almost  be- 
side herself  with  emotion  ;  '  you  are  all  now  in 
authority,  the  fate  alike  of  rich  and  poor  is  in 
your  hands.  Let  the  tocsin  be  heard,  the 
soldiers  called  out,  these  ruthless  deeds  be  put 
down  by  iron  hand,  or  where  will  vengeance 
end?' 

The  four  citizens  glanced  at  each  other,  then 
at  the  armourer.  Leaning  over  the  parapet, 
looking  down  from  his  giddy  eminence, 
Nesmond  gazed  around,  counting  and  identi- 
fying the  chateaux  on  fire.  At  last  he  moved 
away. 

'  Vengeance  ? '  he  repeated  sternly.  '  Do  you 
imagine,  my  girl,  that  I  have  less  compassion 
than  yourself  for  the  poor  delicately-nurtured 
creatures  rendered  homeless  to-night?  Think 
you  that  I  would  instigate  or  condone  brigandage, 
savagery  ?  But  beware  how  you  use  the  word 
vengeance ;  call  to  mind  another  that  was  on 
my  lips  just  now.  Who  devastated  this  very 
Burgundy,  all  France,  with  fire  and  sword  in 


240  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

days  gone  by  ?  Who  induced  plague  and 
famine,  wretchedness  and  crime,  think  you  ? 
The  ancestors  of  our  poor  peasants  now  drunk 
with  liberty — the  forerunners  of  the  crushed, 
trodden  -  down  people  ?  Does  the  guilt  of 
centuries,  the  misery  of  millions,  rest  on  the 
heads  of  shepherd  and  husbandman,  artisan 
and  labourer  ? ' 

He  paused  for  a  moment,  then  added,  in  still 
sterner  voice — 

'  Is  it  thirst  of  spoil  and  bloodshed  that  has 
set  yonder  chateaux  blazing  ?  No  ;  a  hundred 
times  no.  What  these  incendiaries  have  set 
fire  to  is  a  system,  none  so  iniquitous  ever 
chronicled  in  history.  Let  them  burn,  the  title- 
deeds  of  feudal  sway,  guarantees  of  tyranny, 
pacts  of  despots  playing  into  each  other's  hands. 
On  the  altars  of  fanaticism  fire  has  burned  long 

o 

enough  and  to  spare.     The  altar  of  retribution 
now  claims  its  own  in  turn.' 

'  Our  neighbour  is  right,'  said  the  gingerbread 
manufacturer  after  awhile.  Taciturn  as  his 
friend  the  armourer,  when  he  did  speak  it  was 
tellingly  and  of  set  purpose.  One  might  have 
supposed  each  speech  was  a  contract.  '  There 
can  be  no  truce  between  noble  and  peasant  till 


THE  BEACON  FIRES  241 

those  title-deeds  are  burnt — better  could  it  be 
by  the  public  executioner.' 

Turning  to  Pernelle,  he  added  with  a  smile — 

'  Unfortunately  the  age  of  miracles  is  past. 
Be  sure,  mademoiselle,  that  we  should  all  prefer 
a  Revolution  quietly  brought  about  by  a  few 
advocates  in  cap  and  gown,  and  provided  with 
plenty  of  parchment,  quills,  and  sealing-wax,  to 
all  the  burnings  and  plunder  in  the  world.' 

The  others  smiled,  only  Pernelle  remaining 
lost  in  pensive  thought. 

'  After  all,'  he  continued,  '  'tis  but  the  turning 
of  the  tables.  To  one  chateau  fired  now,  a 
thousand  peasants'  huts  have  blazed  in  former 
days ;  to  one  noble  lady  driving  post  haste  from 
her  splendour  to  -  night,  a  thousand  mothers, 
wives,  and  daughters  of  poor  men  have  been 
rendered  naked,  homeless,  ill-treated,  outraged. 
You  are  right,  friend  Nesmond ;  Revolution  is 
but  another  name  for  Retribution.' 

The  distiller  put  in  grimly — 

'  If  the  poor  souls  get  at  the  count's  wine, 
they  will  drink  beyond  their  understandings, 
whatever  their  capacities  may  be.  He  owns 
the  best  Beaune  in  the  country.' 

'  All  very  well  to  pull  down  pillory  and  gibbet 

16 


242  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

before  chateau  gates,'  said  the  third.     'As  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  they  shall  stand  at  Dijon.' 

'  Yes,  yes,'  added  the  fourth.  '  Why  so  waste 
time,  neighbours  ?  Bad  laws  have  brought  the 
country  low  enough,  licence  will  not  raise  it  up.' 
One  by  one  they  descended  in  silence, 
Nesmond  accompanying  his  niece,  the  others 
hurrying  off  to  barracks  and  gendarmerie. 

'  Good-night,  and  fare  thee  well,  love,'  said 
the  armourer,  embracing  her  tenderly.  '  Ex- 
pect great,  and  great,  and  still  greater  news 
from  Paris.' 

He  had  crossed  the  threshold  when  he  turned 
back  and  thrust  a  packet  into  her  hand. 

'  Keep  these  passports  safely  under  lock  and 
key.  No  one  can  tell  what  a  day  may  bring 
forth.  A  serpent  scotched  is  not  a  serpent 
killed.' 

Pernelle  stood  irresolute ;  energy  and  bodily- 
strength  still  remained  for  her  work,  but  heart 
was  gone.  The  very  sight  of  the  patriotic 
emblems  now  saddened  her  inexpressibly. 
With  quick,  instinctive  movement,  she  covered 
basketful  and  ribbons  ;  then,  putting  away  the 
passports,  hastened  to  bed,  hardly  to  sleep. 
What  fitful  slumbers  came  were  disturbed  by 


THE  BEACON  FIRES  243 

dreams  of  vivid  painfulness  and  mystery.  Now 
the  stern  figure  of  her  uncle  frightened  sleep  ; 
he  was  remonstrating,  bitterly  reproaching  her, 
she  knew  not  why.  Next  the  pathetic  image  of 
Velours  stood  in  the  doorway,  on  his  gracious 
un  forgotten  features  written  sorrowful  reproach 
also.  Last  of  all,  Laurent  passed  by,  his  face 
no  less  changed,  a  look  of  stern  purpose  trans- 
forming him  from  the  Laurent  of  old. 

When  she  awoke  the  Fleming  had  struck 
six  of  the  clock,  and  all  the  townsfolk  were 
taking  down  their  shutters.  The  sun  had  risen 
splendidly  on  another  day  of  Revolution. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SERIO-COMIC 

DOUCE  and  her  charge  contrived  to  reach  their 
destination  somehow,  and  next  morning  gazed 
wonderingly  upon  the  Saone. 

They  had  seen  the  crystal  -  clear  Ouche, 
as  if  pleased  with  such  company,  running 
alongside  the  no  less  limpid  canal,  in  both 
mirrored  poplar-bordered  banks.  For  the  first 
time  they  now  beheld  a  broad,  beautiful  river, 
surroundings  serving  to  enlarge  and  embellish. 
This  level  landscape,  so  uniform  in  tone  and 
feature,  would  otherwise  have  seemed  mean 
and  unsuggestive.  No  vineclad  hills,  no  rich 
woods  and  close-shut  valleys,  here  delighted 
the  eye  as  around  Dijon ;  instead,  stretched 
cornfield  and  fallow,  their  mellow  gold  and 
brown  setting  off  the  sky-blue  waves,  making 
them  brighter,  lovelier  by  comparison. 

To  the  two  artless  gazers,  this  wide,  softly- 

244 


SERIO-COMIP  245 


flowing  river  seemed  a  miracle,  a  god.  The 
aspect  of  ocean  itself  could  hardly  have  im- 
pressed them  more.  The  Saone  flowing  close 
to  flat  banks,  blue  waves  meeting  yellow  fields, 
looked  so  peaceful  and  friendly,  it  compensated 
for  the  vineyards  left  behind.  Here  then  was 
a  river  indeed,  how  different  to  the  Ouche, 
mere  streamlet  amid  sedgy  banks  ! 

A  couple  of  fields  off  lay  Finette's  home, 
tiled  farmhouse  with  walls  of  clay  and  rubble ; 
adjoining,  all  walled  in,  thatched  barn,  stable 
and  piggeries,  storehouses  and  henhouses. 
This  homestead  was  also  a  novelty,  grange 
and  dairy,  kitchen  and  offices,  appeared  enor- 
mous to  their  untravelled  eyes.  For  the 
moment  they  forgot  the  cruel  alarms  of 
yesterday. 

'  Where  does  the  Saone  begin  and  end  ? ' 
said  Douce,  after  a  pause  of  ecstatic  bewilder- 
ment and  admiration.  'But  perhaps  it  has 
neither  beginning  nor  end,  Finette,  like  a  fish 
with  tail  in  its  mouth,  goes  round  the  world, 
keeps  it  together?  for  if,  as  folks  say,  the 
world  is  round,  something  must  keep  it 
together.' 

Just  then  she  was  seized  from  behind,  caught 


246  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

in  the  arms  of  a  figure  grotesque  as  mounte- 
bank or  zany,  despite  her  screams,  kissed  again 
and  again.  Finette,  not  wanting  in  courage, 
cuffed  the  offender  to  the  best  of  her  powers ; 
she  was  about  to  make  use  of  a  stout  stick  he 
had  let  fall,  when  the  two  were  held  off  at 
arm's  length  and  a  reproachful  voice  uttered 
their  names. 

'  Fortune* ! '  exclaimed  both  women  in  a 
breath. 

It  was  now  their  turn  to  caress,  kiss,  weep  \vith 
joy.  They  straightway  fell  upon  the  intruder 
so  roughly  handled  just  before, -neither  of  them 
having  a  word  at  command,  too  much  overcome 
for  the  utterance  of  a  syllable.  When  Douce 
had  wept  her  fill,  she  began  to  giggle  like  a 
schoolgirl. 

'  Oh,  Fortune,  my  little  darling,  never,  as  I 
live,  did  I  set  eyes  on  such  a  scarecrow.  Were 
I  on  my  dying  bed,  the  last  sacraments  ready, 
I  should  shake  my  sides  with  laughing — I  know 
I  should.' 

Finette  caught  or  rather  emulated  her  friend's 
mood.  She  was  not  confident  enough  to  jest 
on  her  own  account.  Peals  of  merriment  now 
echoed  far  and  wide ;  but  the  merrier  they 


SERIO-COMIC  247 


grew,  the  longer  became  Fortune's  face.  He 
evidently  regarded  such  an  outburst  as  ill-timed, 
even  insulting. 

'  Poor  ignorant  wenches  that  you  are,  I 
suppose  I  must  make  allowances  for  you.  But 
take  warning,  Madame  Douce,  and  you,  Made- 
moiselle Finette !  Those  who  make  fun  of 
the  Tricolour  in  public  places,  will  be  taught 
better  manners  to  their  cost.  Red,  white,  and 
blue,'  here  he  proudly  pointed  to  his  adorn- 
ments— '  Red,  white,  and  blue,  I  say  '- 

The  very  names  set  his  hearers  off  again. 
Holding  their  sides,  tears  streaming  down  their 
red  cheeks,  they  laughed  more  indecorously 
than  before. 

'  Must  I  fetch  some  goose-girl  or  herd-boy 
to  shame  you  into  your  senses  ? '  the  little  man 
went  on,  with  rising  choler.  '  Why,  a  brainless 
idiot  would  see  nothing  to  grin  at  in  me.  A 
babe  just  weaned  might  clutch  my  ribbons, 
certainly,  but  grown  women,  one  a  wife  and  a 
mother,  the  other  out  of  her  teens,  a  notable 
girl  too — I  blush  for  you !  Just  cease  that 
fooling  for  five  seconds,  and  look  up ! ' 

He  reared  himself  to  his  full  stature,  barely 
five  feet,  and,  stiff  and  square  as  a  recruit  at 


,248  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

drill,  invited  scrutiny.  The  mirth  -  stricken 
women  only  stuffed  their  handkerchiefs  into 
their  mouths,  behaving  with  still  greater  levity. 
In  very  truth  Fortune's  appearance  was  ludicrous 
enough.  Some  kindly  bourgeois  had  arrayed 
him  in  old  Sunday  garments,  sky-blue  coat  a 
trifle  faded,  red  waistcoat,  breeches  the  colour 
of  fresh  walnut  peel,  white  stockings.  The 
travesty  might  have  passed  muster  but  for 
the  tricolour  ribbons,  hanging  tassel-wise  from 
hat  and  girdle,  sleeve  and  small-clothes.  He 
was  indeed  icicled  from  head  to  foot  with  the 
national  colours,  a  Merry  Andrew  in  red,  white, 
and  blue. 

'  You  poor,  dear  fools,'  he  went  on  grandly — 
their  senselessness  rendering  him  all  the  more 
dignified — '  you  little  know  what  you  are  gibing 
at;  but,  as  I  said  just  now,  wiser  folks  than 
yourselves  will  soon  be  taught  better  manners, 
to  their  cost.'  He  pointed  defiantly  to  his 
knapsack  lying  on  the  ground.  '  I  would  have 
you  to  understand,  then,  that  the  Bastille  has 
not  fallen  for  nothing.  Insult  me,  you  insult 
the  nation,  France  itself,  the  Patrie.  I  am 
no  longer  a  jail-bird,  wanted  by  police  and 
gendarme,  but  a  free  citizen  as  good  as  any 


SERIO-COMIC  249 


other.  My  business  is  to  sell  yonder  cockades, 
by  order  of  the  Mayor  of  St.  Jean  de  Losne, 
and  all  who  refuse  to  buy  and  wear  them 
will  be  clapped  into  prison — hung  on  the 
gallows  if  I  had  my  way.  Well,  good-day 
to  you,  and  good  luck  to  all  as  empty-pated, 
say  I.' 

Muttering  invectives,  he  picked  up  stick  and 
knapsack,  then  stalked  away.  He  had  got  a 
few  yards  off,  when,  with  sudden  movement,  he 
turned  round,  and  without  a  word  threw  a 
heavy  object  at  Finette's  feet. 

It  was  Huguette's  stockingful  that  lay  there, 
through  the  worn  threads  glittered  golden 
treasure. 

The  two  women  jumped  up,  their  jocularity 
gone  in  a  moment,  both  sobered  by  the 
sight. 

'  Fortune,  dear  little  Fortune" ! '  they  cried, 
fast  as  heels  could  fly  trying  to  overtake  the 
fugitive.  The  incensed  little  man  was  captured, 
brought  back,  mollified  against  his  will.  In 
another  moment  all  three  were  on  tenderest 
terms,  everything  forgotten  and  forgiven. 
Squatted  on  the  ground,  an  arm  round  the 
waist  of  each,  Fortune"  fondled  first  one,  then 


250  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

the  other.  As  children  who  have  quarrelled, 
they  rubbed  cheek  against  cheek,  ready  for  any 
atonement. 

'We  didn't  mean  to  make  sport  of  you, 
darling,  did  we,  Finette  ? '  said  Douce.  '  And 
oh,  Fortune,  the  night  of  it  we  have  had  !  Holy 
Virgin,  how  many  prayers  did  I  not  say  on 
your  behalf! ' 

'  Your  night  ?  ah !  I  believe  it ;  and  what 
must  mine  have  been  ?  Finette,  child,  put 
that  stocking  out  of  sight ;  or ' — a  tinge  of 
shame  rose  to  his  thin  cheeks  as  he  got  out 
the  rest  — '  shall  I  keep  it  for  you  a  little 
longer  ? ' 

The  pair  looked  at  each  other ;  somewhat 
reluctantly  Finette  was  about  to  return  the 
treasure,  when  he  interposed— 

'  No  ;  your  money  has  already  tempted  me 
as  St.  Anthony  was  tempted  in  the  desert. 
Hide  it  up — that  is  right.' 

He  watched  her  pocket  the  dowry,  with 
Douce  too  delicate -minded  to  make  further 
examination  just  then.  Intensely  relieved, 
Fortune"  went  on — 

'  I  don't  know  what  you  thought  when  you 
lost  me  in  the  crowd  yesterday,  but  my  mind 


SERIO-COMIC  251 


was  made  up,  more  than  made  up.  Now, 
friend  Fortune,  I  said  to  myself,  as  the  prison 
doors  closed  upon  me  '- 

'  Prison  ? '  cried  Douce.      '  Grand  Dieu  ! ' 

'  Grand  Dieu,  indeed  ! '  quoth  Fortune^  testily. 
'  Would  the  world  have  been  made  in  six  years, 
much  less  in  six  days,  hills,  rivers,  quadrupeds 
and  all,  if  you  women  had  been  by  asking 
questions?  The  Almighty  knew  what  He 
was  about  when  He  waited  till  everything  was 
finished  before  taking  a  rib  out  of  Adam's 
side  for  the  making  of  you.  Well,  then,  as 
I  was  saying,  when  the  prison  doors  closed 
upon  me,  said  I  to  myself,  Fortune^  my 
friend,  put  a  good  face  on  it.  Your  hour 
is  come.' 

'  But  the  prison  doors  were  forced  in  ? ' 
Finette  ventured  to  say. 

'  Do  you  suppose  there  is  not  a  locksmith 
out  of  Dijon  ?  Just  listen,  linnet-head.  Of 
course  a  man  must  die  some  time  or  another, 
and  a  smuggler  cannot  expect  to  die  in  his 
bed,  if  he  owns  one.  Hang  me  up  and  have 
done  with  it,  I  have  nothing  to  say  to  that ; 
but  the  rack,  mother  Douce,  the  rack,  little 
Finette ' — 


252  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

The  pair  shuddered.  He  went  on  speaking 
between  his  teeth,  as  if  indeed  caught  in  some 
horrible  engine,  tortured  in  every  nerve  and 
limb. 

'  Take  a  villain's  life,  be  he  highwayman, 
burglar,  assassin,  heretic ;  but  why  make  him 
suffer  a  thousand  deaths  beforehand  ?  You 
know — but  what  should  two  harmless,  home- 
staying  women  know  of  executioners  and  their 
ways  ?  Fortune",  to  his  cost,  knows  a  good 
deal.  You  must  understand,  then,  that  when 
a  man  is  condemned  for  stealing  salt,  death  is 
deemed  far  too  good  for  him.  A  few  years 
back  he  was  tortured  before  trial  and  after ; 
now  only  once  —  once !  oh,  God  in  heaven, 
such  is  the  king's  mercy ! ' 

Douce  and  Finette  put  a  consoling  hand  in 
his  own ;  they  seemed  to  witness  the  horrors 
he  had  conjured  up. 

'  Think  of  it,  my  darlings,'  he  said,  whilst 
tears  of  thankfulness  streamed  down  his  cheeks. 
'  All  night  long  I  lay  with  eyes  unclosed,  wide 
awake  as  Jacquemart  on  the  top  of  Notre 
Dame.  Courage!  I  said  to  myself;  you  have 
borne  the  lash  like  a  man,  have  had  your  flesh 
torn  with  hot  pincers,  your  limbs  almost 


SERIO-COMIC  253 


wrenched  from  their  sockets.  Pile  these 
agonies  one  upon  another,  the  rack,  the  boot, 
the  thumbscrew,  can't  be  much  worse.  And 
there  is  one  consolation,  they  can't  torture  two 
lives  out  of  a  poor  wretch  ;  dead,  he  is  dead 
for  once  and  for  all.  Not  the  judges  and 
executioners  of  entire  France  can  bring  him  to 
life  again.' 

'  But  you  were  not  touched  after  all  ? '  asked 
Finette  tenderly. 

'  Is  nothing  real  to  some  people  but  the 
morsel  of  bread  or  bacon  they  hold  between 
their  teeth  ? '  exclaimed  Fortune".  '  No,  little 
Finette,  the  Holy  Virgin  be  praised,  here  I  am, 
a  free  man  with  a  whole  skin.  That  does  not 
alter  last  night.  If  ever  a  miserable  sinner 
was  given  over  to  the  devil  and  his  tormentors, 
it  was  I.' 

'  There  will  be  worse  plague  for  most  of  us 
in  purgatory,  I'm  thinking,  my  poor  FortuneY 
Douce  said,  smiling. 

'  The  simple  as  well  as  the  wise  should 
only  talk  of  what  they  understand,'  was  the 
answer.  '  Now  let  me  supply  your  kinsfolk 
with  cockades  and  be  off;  I've  lost  too  much 
time  already.' 


254  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

The  very  mention  of  the  Tricolour  set  his 
companions  tittering;  Finette's  stockingful 
added  to  their  hilarity.  No  longer  irate  at  such 
high  spirits,  the  proud  pedlar  of  the  nation 
accompanied  them  indoors. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IDYLLIC 

IT  never  once  occurred  to  the  warm-hearted, 
motherly  Douce  that  she  was  acting  unjustifi- 
ably in  weaning  Finette  from  Laurent.  Mar- 
riage to  this  good  woman  meant  pairing  off  for 
toil  mutually  shared,  and  the  daily  interests 
and  concerns  of  a  hard,  yet  not  uncheerful  life. 
Douce  belonged  neither  to  the  poorer  nor 
richer  peasant  class  of  Burgundy ;  her  ideal 
was  necessarily  the  same,  material  exigences 
standing  first,  domestic  affections  regarded  as 
matters  of  course,  sentiment  relegated  to  the 
last  place.  The  view  of  wedlock  as  first  and 
foremost  a  contract,  entered  into  for  the  practical 
ends  of  society,  is  an  inheritance,  direct  trans- 
mission of  Gallic  ancestry,  the  mariage  de 
convenance,  survival  of  Gallic  institutions.  Love 
in  the  modern  sense  of  the  word  is  also  of 


255 


256  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

modern  growth.     Thus  Douce  but  entertained 
the  ordinary  notion. 

Although  only  twenty  miles  from  home, 
Finette  found  herself  in  a  wholly  new  world, 
even  Laurent  for  the  moment  forgotten. 
Everything  here  was  new,  strange,  and  ab- 
sorbing. Shy  as  children  on  their  first  visit, 
the  pair  followed  Fortune  into  the  kitchen. 
It  was  what  is  called  in  France  the  hour  of 
soup,  when  fast  is  broken  by  a  steaming  com- 
pound of  milk  and  water  flavoured  with  bacon 
and  garlic.  On  the  long  deal  table  wooden 
bowls  were  spread  for  each,  low  forms  and 
stools  serving  for  seats.  In  one  corner  of  the 
vast  smoke-dried  room  stood  the  curtained  bed 
of  master  and  mistress ;  in  another,  equally 
screened  off  by  heavy  beige  hangings,  that  ac- 
corded their  guests.  Edmond,  having  charge 
of  horses  and  cattle,  slept  on  a  rough  shake- 
down at  the  entrance  of  the  stables. 

As  the  trio  entered,  their  hostess  was  dish- 
ing up  the  soup.  White  -  haired,  bent  with 
years,  having  a  complexion  the  hue  of  vellum, 
she  yet  showed  more  vivacity  than  her  niece 
Douce,  and  also  far  more  knowledge  of  the 
world.  Gazette  and  her  husband  were,  indeed, 


IDYLLIC  257 

for  the  time  and  the  place,  superior  people. 
The  fact  of  their  childlessness  and  semi- 
adoption  of  Edmond  rendered  them  of  tre- 
mendous importance  in  Douce's  eyes. 

'  So  you  are  bound  to  the  fair  at  St.  Amour, 
my  little  old  man  ? '  said  the  housewife,  glan- 
cing at  Fortun^ ;  despite  his  august  mission,  the 
ex-smuggler  and  convict  halted  respectfully  on 
the  threshold. 

'  I  ask  your  pardon,  good  mother.  I  am  no 
mountebank  cutting  capers  for  the  diversion  of 
empty  pates,  but  a  messenger  of  the  State,  the 
nation.' 

He  proudly  brought  out  his  passport,  signed 
by  the  Mayor  of  St.  Jean  de  Losne. 

'  I  can't  read,  perhaps  you  can't  either. 
There's  the  seal,  anyhow.  You  have  surely 
heard  the  news?'  he  went  on,  almost  breath- 
lessly impatient  and  contemptuous.  '  The 
Bastille  is  pulled  down.  All  the  seigneurs' 
rights  are  to  be  done  away  with,  the  king  is 
going  to  govern  by  law  and  justice,  and  every 
man,  woman,  or  child  who  refuses  to  wear  a 
tricolour  cockade  will  be  clapped  into  prison.' 

The  good  wife  very  calmly  made  the  round 
of  the  table,  filling  each  bowl  with  soup,  placing 
17 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


an  extra  one  for  the  new-comer  —  no  more 
hospitable  people  than  the  French  peasantry, 
even  in  these  cruel  times ! — then  she  said  with 
evident  interest— 

'  Wait  till  my  husband  comes  in  to  finish 
your  story.' 

So  saying,  she  pointed  to  the  place  assigned 
him.  Two  good  meals  in  the  space  of  a  few 
hours  seemed  to  Fortune's  heated  fancy  the 
natural  consequence  of  Revolution.  Smacking 
his  lips,  he  made  little  ado  of  the  savoury 
potion  ;  indeed,  a  second  would  not  have  been 
refused. 

'  Hearken  to  this  stranger,'  Cezette  said,  as 
Ambert  came  in,  an  old  man  with  cheery  blue 
eyes  and  shrewd  smile,  but  of  few  words. 

'  He  says — he  says — but  I  don't  understand 
a  word.  Let  him  tell  his  own  errand.' 

Fortune  had  hardly  begun,  speaking  with 
the  eloquence  of  conviction  and  a  well  -  filled 
stomach,  when  Edmond  entered.  He  was  a 
tall,  comely  youth,  shyness  itself,  not  needing 
his  uncle's  injunction  of  silence.  All  now 
ladled  away,  Ambert  pausing  from  time  to 
time  to  look  at  the  strange  narrator. 

It  was  a  study  for  a  painter,  the  patriarchal 


IDYLLIC  259 

figure  now  for  the  first  time  brought  face  to 
face  with  the  new  regime,  trying  to  realise  its 
import,  to  understand  its  bearings,  not  only  on 
his  own  case,  but  that  of  all  France,  all  the 
world.  He  evidently  recognised  the  fact  that, 
baubles  as  they  were,  so  many  pennyworths 
of  ribbon  tacked  together,  these  tricolour  tokens 
did  mean  something.  Without  a  smile,  not 
in  the  very  least  disposed  to  quiz  or  banter 
this  odd-looking  herald,  he  ate  and  listened, 
listened  and  ate  by  turns.  His  wife  too 
showed  the  same  willingness  to  be  enlightened. 
Thirty  -  five  years  spent  by  this  good  man's 
side  had  taught  her  to  reflect  also. 

'  Believe  me  or  not,  you  can  do  as  you  think 
fit,'  Fortune  rattled  oh.  '  But  why  afraid  to 
swallow  this,  that,  or  the  other  ?  You  all  know 
it,  the  Bastille  has  fallen.  Can  any  miracle 
astonish  us  now  ? ' 

'  The  neighbour  is  right,'  Ambert  put  in. 
4  What  say  the  townsfolk  ? ' 

'  Humph  ! '  laughed  the  oracle.  '  Douce  has 
surely  told  you  what  they  did  yesterday,  which 
is  more  to  the  purpose.  Truth  to  tell,  nobody 
has  time  to  open  his  lips,  every  one's  nose  is 
in  a  newspaper.  Newspapers  fall  from  the 


260  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

clouds  nowadays  like  snowflakes  in  January. 
The  diligence  from  Paris  this  morning  con- 
tained little  else.' 

Ambert's  cheeks  reddened. 

'  No  impertinence,  friend,  but  mayhap  you 
can  read  ? ' 

'  Not  I,'  was  the  jaunty  answer — nothing 
could  humiliate  Fortune  now.  '  For  all  that, 
I  can  tell  you  what  the  newspapers  say.  A 
citizen  was  reading  one  aloud  in  the  market- 
place as  I  passed  by.  You  have  heard  of 
England,  the  country  over  the  water  dis- 
covered by  Columbus  ? — a  queer  place,  yet 
far  ahead  of  us  in -some  things.  There,  it  is 
the  rich  who  pay  taxes,  and  not  the  poor  as  in 
France.  There,  every  man  may  say,  write,  or 
print  what  he  pleases.  There,  all  the  grand 
seigneurs  with  their  pillories  and  gibbets  were 
thrown  into  the  sea  hundreds  of  years  ago,  and 
if  the  king  commits  a  single  act  of  injustice, 
off  goes  his  head ! ' 

Douce  and  the  young  people  tittered.  Ambert 
thought  for  a  moment,  then  said  wistfully — 

'  Friend,  shall  you  be  passing  this  way  again  ? 
if  so,  bring  me  one  or  two  newspapers.' 

Gazette  was  about  to  utter  a  remonstrance, 


IDYLLIC  261 

but  checked  herself.  Her  husband  never  laid 
out  a  sou  in  vain  ;  he  could  not  read  himself, 
but  would,  of  course,  find  a  lettered  neighbour. 

Fortune  fumbled  and  fumbled,  then,  to  his 
own  satisfaction  and  his  host's  intense  delight, 
produced  a  couple  of  crumpled  flying  sheets, 
two  numbers  of  the  Gazette  de  Paris. 

'  Keep  them  and  welcome/  said  the  little 
man,  rejecting  the  proffered  coin.  '  You  won't 
find  therein  much  more  than  I  can  tell  you. 
The  States  General  are  mending  matters  as 
fast  as  they  can,  and  town  and  country  are  not 
behind-hand.  Twenty  chateaux  were  fired  in 
Burgundy  last  night ' — 

His  listeners  laid  down  their  spoons  and 
stared  aghast. 

'  You  dear,  innocent,  sucking  babes ! '  again 
laughed  the  exponent  of  the  Revolution ;  '  you 
don't  suppose  that  honest  folks  like  ourselves 
would  hurt  a  seigneur  or  his  dame ;  it  is  not 
them  we  want,  but  their  title-deeds,  their  parch- 
ments enabling  them  to  pillory,  flog,  imprison, 
hang  the  peasant,  to  say  nothing  of  extracting 
dues  in  kind,  rights  of  pigeon-house,  rabbit- 
warren,  mill,  oven.  But  no  more.  To-day  I 
am  servant  of  St.  Jean  de  Losne,  of  the  nation. 


262  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

To-morrow  I  am  my  own  master.  You  will  see 
what  you  will  see !  Well,  Tricolour  or  prison, 
which  is  it  to  be  with  the  present  company  ? ' 

Ambert  smiled.  His  good  sense  told  him 
how  far  the  other  was  in  earnest.  By  way  of 
repaying  his  generosity,  however,  and  pleasing 
the  women,  he  purchased  a  rosette  for  each— 
not  to  wear,  he  explained,  but  to  keep  in  case 
of  necessity. 

When  Fortune  had  taken  noisy  leave,  Cezette 
and  Douce  betook  themselves  to  their  hemp- 
heckling  ;  Edmond  invited  his  future  bride — so 
he  was  taught  to  regard  Finette — out  of  doors  ; 
the  old  man  was  left  alone. 

He  still  held  the  newspapers,  glancing  from 
the  Sibylline  leaves  he  could  not  decipher  to  the 
insignia  hardly  less  mysterious,  those  triple- 
hued  ribbons,  meaningless  until  yesterday. 

Sifting  Fortune's  words,  making  every  pos- 
sible allowance  for  misconception  and  bragga- 
docio, he  arrived  at  one  conclusion,  of  itself 
rendering  all  others  possible. 

Time  had  made  an  awful  leap.  With  the 
fall  of  the  Bastille,  the  march  of  centuries  had 
been  anticipated  in  a  day. 

Book-learning,     commerce    with    the    outer 


IDYLLIC  263 

world,  the  give  and  take  of  public  life,  were 
not  needed  for  his  enlightenment  so  far.  Men 
are  taught  history  by  life  as  well  as  by  books  ; 
that  is  to  say,  what  is  history  indeed,  the  exist- 
ence of  humanity.  This  white-haired  peasant, 
turning  from  democratic  organ  to  democratic 
emblem,  from  newspaper  to  Tricolour,  vaguely 
realised  a  great  truth.  Retribution  may  be 
stayed,  its  progress  arrested  ;  surely,  if  slowly, 
the  doom  of  injustice  is  pronounced,  the 
penalty  of  wrong-doing  incurred. 

Pondering  deeply,  now  with  significant  smile, 
now  with  a  shake  of  the  head  still  more  suggest- 
ive, he  resumed  his  labours. 

He  was  too  far-seeing  wholly  to  rejoice. 
The  hour  of  congratulation  would  come  later, 
for  children  of  babes  as  yet  unborn. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

IN    QUIET    PLACES 

ALL  this  time,  amid  the  hurtling  of  forces  now 
met  in  conflict  for  the  first  time,  amid  the 
shock  of  crumbling  institutions  and  of  a  regime 
swept  away  for  ever,  life  in  quiet  places  went 
on  as  usual.  Maidens  were  wooed  and  wed, 
babes  were  held  over  the  sacred  font,  grand- 
sires  reverently  borne  to  their  last  rest.  Here 
and  there,  too,  amid  the  less  trodden-dovvn 
populations,  young  and  old  would  foot  it 
merrily  at  twilight,  keeping  time  with  their 
own  voices,  needing  no  other  accompaniment 
in  the  round. 

Famine  -  stricken,  plague  -  stricken  regions 
existed,  serfdom  still  disgraced  the  ecclesi- 
astical seigneurs  of  the  Jura,  from  end  to  end 
of  beautiful  France  the  curse  of  feudalism  was 
apparent.  But  in  this  farmhouse  on  the  banks 
of  the  Saone,  with  many  another,  might  be 

264 


IN  QUIET  PLACES  265 

found  a  certain  amount  of  well-being.  Ambert 
and  Cezette  toiled  from  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning  till  nightfall ;  only  a  minimum  of  profit 
remained  after  the  exactions  of  triple  taxation, 
royal,  seigneurial,  municipal.  On  every  side, 
at  every  turn,  they  found  themselves  in  the 
clutches  of  some  abominable  law,  law  also 
being  a  triple-headed  monster  under  the  ancien 
regime.  Now  they  must  obey  the  king's  behest, 
enforced  by  dragoon  and  musketeer;  now  of 
provincial  governor  and  seigneur,  enforced  by 
gendarme  and  process-server.  Their  bit  of 
land,  however,  with  farmstead,  belonged  to 
them,  for  their  cattle  they  could  hire  rich 
pasture,  at  the  end  of  each  year  another  louis 
d'or  or  two  had  been  hidden  away  with  the  rest. 
And  they  enjoyed  one  immense,  one  crown- 
ing privilege.  Childless,  they  were  yet  free  to 
adopt  an  heir  and  bequeath  their  hardly-earned 
property.  The  seigneury  of  which  it  had  once 
formed  a  part,  and  on  which  it  yet,  in  a  certain 
measure,  depended,  had  long  since  forfeited  the 
right  of  mainmorte,  of  the  Dead  Hand — none 
held  in  greater  abhorrence  by  the  peasant,  none 
more  instrumental  in  bringing  about  the  so- 
called  Jacquerie,  or  burning  of  feudal  title-deeds. 


266  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  The  lad  Edmond  is  of  our  kin,  a  toward 
youth,  not,  I  deem,  likely  to  waste  his  sub- 
stance or  fall  into  bad  courses,'  Ambert  had 
said  some  time  before  Finette's  arrival ;  '  but 
a  man  is  what  his  wife  makes  him.  We  must 
marry  our  nephew  first,  and  make  our  wills 
afterwards.' 

Cezette  and  Douce  could  not  write  to  each 
other,  even  if  there  had  been  rural  letter- 
carriers  to  transmit  correspondence.  They 
nevertheless  contrived  to  hold  intercourse  by 
means  of  occasional  messenger,  their  little  plot 
being  concerted  through  the  medium  of  friends 
bound  to  St.  Jean  de  Losne  on  business.  The 
two  women  now  talked  of  nothing  else,  and 
ere  Douce's  departure  everything  was  settled. 
True,  not  a  word  on  the  subject  had  passed 
between  Finette  and  Edmond.  Their  com- 
pliance was  a  foregone  conclusion. 

'  Finette  has  neither  kith  nor  kin,  but  what 
may  serve  Edmond  better,  a  few  gold  pieces 
with  which  to  buy  a  cow  or  two,'  Douce  had 
said  apologetically;  'and  as  to  her  religion, 
she'll  keep  that  to  herself.' 

'  Kith  and  kin,  I  take  it,  are  much  like 
dessert,'  replied  Ambert:  'unless  sweet  and 


IN  QUIET  PLACES  267 

sound,  we  are  best  without.  Religion — well, 
religion  is  another  matter  ;  but  Huguenots  are 
now  to  be  let  alone,  so  folks  say,  and  why  they 
were  ever  meddled  with  I  never  could  under- 
stand. They  always  seemed  to  me  harmless 
enough.' 

'  Children  born  of  this  marriage  must  be 
brought  up  in  the  true  faith,  of  course  ? ' 
Gazette  added  eagerly.  She  rarely  took  such 
an  initiative,  but  here  convictions  were  at 
stake.  Douce  looked  at  her  host. 

The  old  man  paused,  then  replied  very 
deliberately— 

'Shall  I  tell  you  my  notion,  wife?  A  time 
has  come  when  we  shall  all  think  less  of  what 
folks  believe  than  of  what  they  do.  Law  will 
concern  itself  not  so  much  with  the  affairs  of 
another  world  as  of  this.' 

His  listeners  had  not  a  word  to  say. 
Evidently  recent  events  and  those  flying 
sheets  from  Paris  had  set  Ambert  thinking. 
And  others  also !  Each  village  alehouse  was 
now  a  scene  of  animated  discussion.  One  more 
instructed  than  the  rest  would  read  the  last 
newspaper  aloud,  all  in  turn  questioning,  pro- 
pounding, elucidating  as  best  they  could.  A 


268  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

day,  an  hour  of  Revolution,  was  as  a  key  un- 
locking men's  understandings,  widening  their 
sympathies. 

'And  high  time  too,'  the  patriarch  went  on. 
'  Did  ever  government  want  mending  as  this  ? 
I  can  number  threescore  years  and  ten — what 
would  my  position  be  now  had  I  only  paid  my 
own  share  of  taxes,  the  seigneur,  the  priest 
paying  theirs  ?  I  should  be  almost  rich.  Again, 
I  have  lived  honestly,  I  have  never,  through 
fault  or  misfortune,  fallen  into  the  clutches  of 
the  law — what  if  I  had  ?  Why  should  a  poor 
man  accused  of  crime  be  condemned  unheard, 
put  to  the  rack,  flogged,  pilloried  ;  and  a  rich 
man,  committing  offences  a  thousand  times 
worse,  get  off  scot  free,  just  because  he  can 
show  so  many  quarters  of  nobility,  and  in 
consequence  is  tried  by  his  friends,  or  bribes 
his  judges?  No,  no,  my  good  women,  we  are 
all  flesh  and  blood,  as  I  fear  some  will  now 
discover  to  their  cost.' 

Douce  took  her  leave,  having  schooled  her 
son  beforehand — he  was  to  seize  his  first  oppor- 
tunity of  speaking  out. 

The  next  evening,  ever  memorable  Fourth  of 
August,  Finette  was  despatched  to  help  her 


IN  QUIET  PLACES  269 

young  master,  so  she  regarded  him,  with  a 
load  of  hay. 

In  this  favoured  land  harvests  occur  several 
times  during  the  year,  crop  succeeding  crop 
from  May  till  October.  Most  beautiful  is  the 
aftermath  of  such  a  season,  especially  by  the 
river  and  at  eventide.  Serenely  yet  proudly, 
broad  belt  of  blue  parting  two  golden  worlds, 
the  Saone  flows  amid  cleared  corn-land  and 
meadow,  the  vast  level  landscape  and  wide 
expanse  of  gently  rippling  water  imparting  a 
sense  of  inexpressible  repose.  No  gradations 
of  colour  are  here,  no  indistinct  blendings  of 
light  and  shadow ;  all  is  clear,  defined,  har- 
monious, azure  heavens,  intenser  azure  below, 
velvety  green  and  gold  around,  the  general 
brilliance  subdued  as  evening  wore  on.  Hardly 
a  breath  was  stirring.  Bright  and  lustrous  as 
cornelian  against  the  sky  showed  red  and  white 
beeves,  here,  if  nowhere  else  in  France,  filled 
with  plenty.  As  the  sun  sank  behind  a  ridge 
of  poplars,  bars  of  solid  gold  seemed  thrown 
across  the  lawny  reaches  of  the  river,  whilst 
its  crystal  depths  took  a  hue  of  mingled  rose 
and  amber. 

Amid  this  gracious  scene  moved  the  youth 


270  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

and  maiden,  homely  figures  enough,  yet  not 
without  a  certain  dignity  and  charm. 

Both  were  barefooted  and  bareheaded  ;  the 
weather  was  sultry,  and  Edmond  had  thrown 
aside  waistcoat  and  neckerchief,  displaying 
well-proportioned  throat  and  muscular  arms, 
browned  by  such  suns  from  his  infancy ;  tall, 
straight,  and  manly,  he  needed  no  adjuncts  of 
dress  or  fashion.  A  kindly,  upright,  simple 
nature  declared  itself  in  word  and  smile. 

Finette,  too,  would  have  been  spoiled  by 
corset-maker  or  milliner.  Blue  serge  petticoat 
and  loose  cotton  vest,  permitting  free  play  of 
arm  and  shoulder,  were  exactly  suited  to  her 
occupation.  In  the  clear  glow,  the  two  figures 
stood  out  as  from  painter's  canvas.  Without 
them  the  landscape  would  have  wanted  pathos. 

Edmond,  planted  on  the  cart,  stacked  the  hay 
as  Finette  tossed  it  up.  For  the  most  part  their 
task  was  performed  in  silence ;  only  when  the 
last  little  rick  had  been  cleared  did  the  young 
man  summon  courage  to  speak. 

'  Let  us  rest  a  bit  before  returning  home,'  he 
said  ;  '  you  are  tired,  I  am  sure  ?  ' 

'What  good  would  the  day  be  if  we  did 
nothing  to  tire  us  ? '  Finette  replied.  She  was 


IN  QUIET  PLACES  271 


thinking — After  all,  what  do  griefs  and  disap- 
pointments matter  ?  We  work  them  off  as  the 
hours  go  by,  and  it  will  be  with  Laurent  as 
with  myself. 

Edmond  laughed.  Not  a  trace  of  Laurent's 
bitterness  or  cynicism  in  this  untried  nature  ; 
homely,  even  hard,  as  existence  had  been  to 
him,  he  knew  nothing  of  inner  conflicts. 

'  You  may  well  say  that ;  and  better  to  tire 
for  ourselves  than  for  other  people.  My  uncle 
and  aunt  are  richer  than  you  thought,  are  they 
not?' 

'  Douce  told  me  they  had  laid  by  a  little,' 
was  the  absent  reply.  Finette's  thoughts  were 
still  with  her  absent  lover. 

'  I  am  their  nearest  relation,'  he  went  on, 
'  and  they  wish  me  to  take  a  wife.'  With  a  shy, 
swift  glance  he  added,  '  They  wish  me  to  marry 
you.' 

Finette  hardly  changed  colour.  She  also 
had  been  lessoned,  but  rather  by  the  moni- 
tions of  conscience  than  of  others.  It  was 
her  duty  to  release  Laurent  from  his  bond ; 
he  must  wed  the  rich,  important,  and  accom- 
plished Pernelle,  become  in  his  turn  a  leading 
citizen.  Herself  beseemed  a  homelier  lot,  toils 


272  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

afield,  shelter  of  thatched  roof,  a  peasant's 
name. 

'  And  I  wish  it  too,'  pursued  Edmond,  mis- 
taking her  passiveness,  imputing  her  silence  to 
maidenly  reserve.  '  You  please  me.  I  should 
like  to  spend  my  life  with  you — the  first  girl  of 
whom  I  can  say  as  much.' 

Finette  turned  round  quickly,  and  met  his 
honest,  affectionate  glance.  His  last  words 
made  apparent  all  the  cruelty  of  her  dilemma. 

*  I  hope  you  are  able  to  say  the  same  of  me, 
then  we  shall  be  made  happy  all  round,'  he 
said.  '  My  uncle  is  getting  old,  he  wants  to 
settle  me  at  once.  You  are  very  brisk,  not 
wasteful  about  food,  pleasant  when  spoken 
to  about  your  work :  all  this  delights  my 
aunt,  and  of  course  I  have  their  wishes  to 
consider.' 

'  I  am  a  Huguenot,'  broke  in  Finette,  putting 
the  lesser  objection  first. 

The  young  man  tossed  his  head  scornfully. 
'  If  any  one  reproaches  you  with  that,  the  worse 
for  them,  that  is  all  I  have  to  say.  Look  you, 
Finette,  we  do  not  spend  our  days  in  church, 
but  at  home  ;  how  we  behave  ourselves  here  is 
much  more  to  the  point  than  what  we  say  when 


IN  QUIET  PLACES  273 

we  get  there.  To  each  man  or  woman  his  or 
her  own  Sunday,  I  say.' 

'  There  is  another  thing,'  Finette  went  on, 
speaking  very  sorrowfully  and  with  great 
deliberation.  '  When  in  the  town,  in  Made- 
moiselle Nesmond's  service,  an  apprentice,  her 
relation,  asked  me  to  marry  him — some  day,  I 
mean,  for  an  apprentice  cannot  marry.  We 
were  betrothed.' 

'  And  what  of  that  ? '  laughed  the  wooer 
lightly.  '  In  the  town,  folks  are  always 
betrothing  themselves.  So  long  as  you  did  not 
care  for  your  swain,  what  then  ? ' 

'  But  I  did  care,'  Finette  continued,  too 
sad,  too  resigned  for  tears.  '  That  is  why 
I  came  here.  His  family  wanted  to  better  his 
position,  a  rich  marriage  was  arranged  for  him ; 
so,  not  wishing  to  stand  in  the  way  of  his 
fortunes,  I  accepted  service  here.' 

4  You  did  well.  Ah,  these  town  apprentices, 
they  are  not  to  be  trusted,  not  worth  a  second 
thought ! ' 

Finette  was  about  to  protest,  but  checked 
herself.  Laurent  was  less  than  a  name  here — 
let  folks  say  what  they  would. 

'  And  every  little  girl   has  her  fancies  ;  but 

18 


274  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

you  are  a  woman  now,  you  know  whether 
you  could  live  happily  with  me  or  no.  Well, 
shall  I  tell  my  uncle  and  aunt,  they  may  settle 
everything  else  when  they  please  ? ' 

He  received  her  softly  -  uttered  affirmative, 
calmly  as  it  was  given.  The  poetry  of  that 
little  love-scene  lay  in  Finette's  sacrifice.  She 
decided  to  wed  this  honest  fellow,  toil  by  his 
side,  minister  to  him  and  his,  belong  wholly  to 
them,  and  all  for  Laurent's  sake ! 

They  returned  home,  chatting  of  material 
prospects,  their  first  day  of  courtship  no  less 
prosaic  than  the  future  of  such  lovers.  Only 
Edmond's  confidence  betokened  deeper  feeling, 
and  Finette's  growing  sympathy,  a  tenderness 
that  might  develop  with  years,  perhaps  a  safer 
preparation  for  married  life  than  romantic 
passion  ? 


CHAPTER  XXIV 


REVOLUTION  now  marched  with  giant  strides, 
feudalism  toppled  as  a  tree  under  the  wood- 
man's axe ;  the  newspaper  and  the  Tricolour 
made  the  round  of  France,  spreading  a  creed 
hitherto  undreamed  of,  equality  before  the  law 
and  freedom  of  conscience  for  all. 

It  is,  however,  one  thing  to  issue  noble 
propaganda  and  enact  decrees  in  accordance 
with  abstract  justice,  another  to  procure  their 
realisation.  As  was  only  natural,  indeed 
inevitable,  between  centuries  of  despotism 
and  the  advent  of  liberty,  now  intervened  a 
reign  of  violence  and  blind  passion.  The 
tremendous  flash  of  Revolution,  of  truth,  dazzled 
men's  vision,  even  the  sober-minded  no  longer 
seeing  clear  way.  Was  it  wonderful  that 
enthusiasts,  dreamers,  above  all,  victims  of  the 
former  regime,  should  grow  giddy  ?  Thus  it 

275 


276  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

came  about  that,  whilst  in  a  single  night  feudal 
institutions  were  annulled  at  Versailles,  country 
folks,  some  of  these  the  quietest  possible, 
continued  to  take  the  law  into  their  own  hands. 
On  that  never-to-be-forgotten  Fourth  of  August 
—the  one  Fourth  of  August  in  history — had 
been  dispatched  a  triple-headed  monster,  the 
Geryon  of  royal,  seigneurial,  ecclesiastical 
privilege.  During  the  sultry  hours  of  a  harvest 
evening,  taille  and  corvte  followed  lettre  de 
cachet  and  judicial  torture ;  confiscated  with 
as  little  ceremony  were  the  rights  of  excom- 
munication, of  holding  slaves,  of  suppressing 
the  written  word  and  speech.  The  French 
nation  went  to  bed  in  social,  moral,  and 
spiritual  bondage,  and  woke  up  possessed  of  a 
Habeas  Corpus  Act,  of  trial  by  jury,  of  a  free 
press  and  liberty  of  conscience.  A  people 
hitherto  held  in  leading-strings  had  declared 
itself  adult,  proclaimed  its  own  majority.  Fact 
is  more  akin  to  the  popular  mind  than  theory, 
and  especially  those  who  had  been  galled  by 
feudal  tyrannies  now  showed  lawless  impa- 
tience. Fast  as  their  legislators  could  abrogate 
and  decree,  their  own  initiative  ran  on  before. 
Seigneurial  rights  had  ceased  to  exist,  yet 


SALE  UNDER  THE  DEAD  HAND  277 

chateaux  were  ransacked  and  title-deeds  blazed. 
To  the  simple,  unlettered  peasant  these  parch- 
ments were  so  many  warranties  of  subjection  ; 
his  freedom,  his  very  manhood,  depended  on 
their  total  disappearance. 

Ready,  of  course,  to  egg  on  the  reluctant 
and  aid  the  more  willing,  were  law-breakers 
by  calling,  ragamuffins  and  desperadoes  ever 
alert  for  pillage,  men  to  whom  the  Revolution 
meant  licence  only  ;  the  scum  of  town  popula- 
tions now  betaking  themselves  with  more  hope 
of  advantage  into  the  country. 

The  morrow  of  this  unique  Fourth  of  August, 
to  be  blazoned  in  history  with  gold  and  purple 
characters,  saw  Huguette's  former  neighbours 
astir. 

'  You'll  just  go  and  have  a  look  at  Velours' 
vineyard  ? '  Jeanne  had  said  at  soup-time  to 
Pierre. 

Democratic  to  the  core,  democratic  without 
knowing  it,  country  folks  among  themselves 
seldom  used  high-sounding  titles.  Marquis, 
Comte,  and  Monsieur  had  been  alike  dropped 
lono-  before  Citizen  came  into  fashion. 

o 

'  We  may  as  well,'  quoth  Pierre.  '  Twill  go 
for  a  song.' 


278  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

It  was  the  long-suffering  mothers  of  France 
who  initiated  the  Revolution,  the  wives  of 
the  people  who  stormed  the  Bastille.  Jeanne 
tossed  her  head  scornfully.  The  Declaration 
of  the  Rights  of  Man  now  being  formulated 
at  Versailles  was  no  revelation  to  merciless 
reasoner. 

'Well  worth  while  wasting  tinder  and  tow  on 
his  chateau.  Why,  Velours'  parchments  are 
not  worth  a  sou  ;  his  father,  so  folks  say,  had 
to  sell  silver  plate  and  even  madame's  lace 
flounces  for  bare  subsistence.' 

'  That  may  be,'  said  Pierre  in  his  slow,  sullen 
way.  '  The  present  marquis  may  possess  no 
more  land  than  we  two,  but  he  is  a  marquis, 
which  makes  all  the  difference.  As  a  marquis, 
not  as  a  man,  he  is  in  bad  case  now.  Think 
of  it,  woman  :  I  snare  a  seigneur's  rabbit  or 
pigeon  on  my  own  field,  and  am  sent  to  prison 
or  the  gibbet  for  it ;  he  may  let  his  rabbits  and 
pigeons  devour  my  crops  to  the  last  ear  and 
blade.  I  may  not  sow  corn  till  the  seigneur's 
is  in  the  ground,  cannot  get  it  to  market  till  I 
have  paid  his  tenths  and  his  tolls,  cannot  so 
much  as  grind  a  sack  of  wheat  where  I  please, 
bake  a  loaf  in  my  own  oven  ;  and,  to  speak  as 


SALE  UNDER  THE  DEAD  HAND  279 

a  vintager,  not  a  barrel  of  wine  must  I  offer  for 
sale  till  Monsieur  le  Comte  has  made  a  good 
price  of  his  own.  Let  the  accursed  parch- 
ments burn,  say  I ' — • 

'  Folks  declare  that  the  law  is  going  to  do 
away  with  them,'  interposed  the  wife,  '  and  high 
time  too.' 

'Then  we  will  help  the  law,'  Pierre  replied. 

'Look  you,'  Jeanne  said.  'We  see  plain 
enough  what  is  coming.  The  devil  could 
not  ride  his  hiorh  horse  for  ever.  But  leave 

o 

others  to  their  chateau-burning,  don't  you  and 
Anatole  get  yourselves  into  trouble.' 

Anatole  was  their  first-born. 

'  When  you  see  me  brandishing  a  pitchfork 
in  my  night-shirt,  it  will  be  time  to  cry — Have 
a  care,'  was  the  answer.  Whilst  resolute  to 
keep  out  of  harm's  way,  Pierre  was  quite  ready 
to  profit  by  the  aggression  of  others. 

Once  more  Huguette's  little  domain  became 
an  animated  scene,  but  how  different  the  aspect 
of  bystanders  now !  On  that  dewy,  tranquil 
morning  three  months  before,  folks  had  stolen 
up  by  twos  and  threes,  talking  in  undertones, 
eyes  cast  down,  their  demeanour  becoming  the 
precincts  of  death.  Peaceful  as  the  season, 


280  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

calm  as  the  landscape,  had  then  been  alike 
voice  and  gesture,  no  vindictiveness  disturbing 
young  or  old,  long-suffering  or  impatient. 

To-day  all  was  changed.  Noisily  and  ostenta- 
tiously, a  look  of  assumption,  even  bravado, 
changing  every  sunbrowned,  toil-worn  face,  the 
villagers  hastened  forward.  Cabin,  field,  and 
vineyard  were  to  fall  under  the  auctioneer's 
hammer,  escheat  of  the  seigneur  by  virtue  of 
mainmorte,  the  hated  law  of  the  Dead  Hand. 
It  was  not  so  much  the  sale  as  the  occasion 
that  attracted  people.  These  dark  looks, 
these  sinister  whispers,  seemed  to  say — 

'  Can  such  things  be  to-day  ?  Three  months 
ago  the  Bastille  had  not  fallen,  but  now —  ? ' 

'  Eh,  Fe*lix  and  good  mother  Douce,  you've 
come  for  a  bid,  have  you  ? '  was  Pierre's 
greeting  as  the  meek-faced  pair  advanced, 
perhaps  the  only  lookers-on  who  had  come  for 
no  other  purpose.  '  And  you,  father  Robert, 
and  Victorine — Etienne  too!  Well,  we  shall 
have  to  scramble  for  it  on  hands  and  knees. 
And  mind  you ' — 

Here  he  dropped  his  voice  to  a  whisper,  and 
added — 

'  'Tis  said  that  Velours  is  only  just  in  time, 


SALE  UNDER  THE  DEAD  HAND  281 

that  when  the  law  is  altered,  which  it  will  be 
soon — the  law  of  the   Dead  Hand,    I   mean- 
there  will  be  no  more  properties  of  widows  and 
childless  folks  for  seigneurs  to  snap  up.' 

Douce  put  in  very  gently— 

'  Velours  is  not  a  hard  man.  I  don't  think 
any  of  us  can  say  that  of  him.' 

Pierre  laughed  gruffly. 

'  Little  enough  he  has  had  to  be  hard  with, 
good  mother.  But  he  is  a  marquis,  worse  luck 
for  him  in  these  days.' 

'  He  gave  away  bread  during  the  famine,  as 
long  as  he  had  any  to  give,  poor  soul,'  Douce 
again  ventured  to  say. 

'  And  his  grandfather  hanged  mine  for  a 
trespasser  on  his  game  preserves,'  was  the 
savage  reply.  '  I  tell  you,  my  good  woman, 
Velours  has  not  been  burnt  out  of  house  and 
home  because  he  is  a  villain,  but  because  all 
seigneurs  have  been  made  villainous  by  the 
law.' 

Poor  Douce  felt  overcome  by  these  argu- 
ments. 

'  I  don't  like  the  look  of  Pierre,  nor  of 
Anatole,  nor  even  of  old  Robert/  she  whispered 
to  her  husband.  '  I  am  convinced  that  they 


282  A  ROMANCE  OF  D1JOX 

are  not  here  to  bid,  but  to  make  mischief.  Let 
us  steal  away.' 

Felix  shrugged  his  shoulders  without  budg- 
ing an  inch. 

Rural  life  under  the  ancien  regime  was 
monotonous  as  that  of  a  prison  ;  with  many 
another,  Felix  welcomed  anything  in  the  way 
of  gratuitous  excitement.  He  determined  to 
see  out  the  auction. 

The  scene  grew  every  moment  more  ani- 
mated. Never  before  had  such  a  sale  attracted 
purchasers  so  numerous.  A  poor  hovel  and 
outhouses  to  match,  an  enclosed  vineyard,  corn- 
field and  cabbage  garden,  the  entire  area  being 
under  two  acres,  these  made  up  the  lot.  Folks 
peered  hither  and  thither,  one  tapped  the  mud- 
built  walls  to  test  their  soundness,  another  with 
his  heel  turned  up  the  soil  in  order  to  judge 
of  its  quality,  a  third  with  outspread  arms 
measured  the  cabbage  garden,  a  fourth  counted 
the  vinestocks  in  a  row.  And  meantime 
tongues  moved  glibly. 

'  Sure  that  is  some  fine  bourgeoise  yonder,' 
Jeanne  said  to  Pierre  in  a  grudging  tone.  '  One 
thing  is  certain — if  the  townsfolk  want  to  buy, 
we  stand  no  chance.' 


SALE  UNDER  THE  DEAD  HAND  283 

Douce  at  the  same  time  whispered  to  F^lix— 

'  Don't  let  us  go  outside  the  vineyard.  That 
lady  just  come  up  in  a  caleche  is  Finette's 
former  mistress,  the  milliner  opposite  Notre 
Dame.  I  am  not  to  tell  her  where  the  child 
is,  and  I  won't — nothing  shall  make  me ! '  re- 
iterated the  good  woman,  screening  herself 
behind  some  broad-shouldered  neighbour. 

'  There  is  another  caleche,  and  another.  I 
suppose  the  citizens  want  to  build  chalets  up 
here,'  F&ix  replied,  with  a  crestfallen  air. 
'  Worse  luck  for  us  !  However,  we'll  wait  and 
see.' 

Drawn  up  in  single  file  alongside  Huguette's 
domain,  the  hooded  carriages  made  sombre 
undulations  above  the  bright  picture,  dazzling 
foliage  of  vine  and  young  rye,  creamy 
blossom  of  buckwheat  ready  for  the  sickle. 
As  yet  their  inmates  remained  inside.  Once 
ensconced,  it  was  no  easy  task  to  descend,  the 
pre- Revolutionary  caleche  needing  as  much 
reform  as  the  pre-Revolutionary  criminal  code. 
One  advantage  must  be  named,  that  of  dis- 
playing a  lady's  ankle  as  she  descended,  and  of 
affording-  opportunity  for  graceful  gymnastics. 

From  under  the  hoods  peeped  fashionably 


284  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

frizzed  and  coifed  heads  of  city  madams,  whilst 
standing  by,  chatting  of  the  business  in  hand, 
the  scenery,  the  last  news  from  Paris,  stood 
cavaliers,  husbands,  brothers,  or  men  of  busi- 
ness, come  to  represent  them  at  the  sale. 

Each  group  now  became  the  object  of  curious, 
almost  aggressive,  scrutiny  on  the  part  of  the 
other.  Peasant  and  bourgeois  were  not  so 
widely  separated  as  peasant  and  noble,  but  a 
tremendous  gap  lay  between  the  two.  The 
bourgeois  was  also  a  favoured  class ;  on  his 

o 

head  rested  the  crime  of  accepted  prerogative. 
Even  his  presence  here  aroused  resentment. 
Could  not  a  few  villagers  haggle  among  them- 
selves for  a  parcel  of  land  ?  Must  rich  shop- 
keepers, forsooth,  run  up  the  price  ? 

Even  more  unsympathetic  were  the  in- 
truders. 

'  How  uncouth  in  appearance  are  these 
rustics  ! '  quoth  one. 

'  How  boorish  their  behaviour ! '  added  a 
second. 

'  Humph  !  we  are  evidently  not  needed  here.' 
remarked  a  third. 

'  I  don't  wonder  at  chateaux  being  burned,' 
cried  a  fourth. 


SALE  UNDER  THE  DEAD  HAND  285 

Only  Pernelle  held  her  peace.  The  contrast 
between  her  own  condition  and  that  of  these 
brethren  and  sisters  humiliated  her.  What 
had  made  them  sordid,  bitter,  and  malevolent  ? 
Who  was  responsible  for  their  poverty  and 
haggardness,  their  premature  look  of  age  and 
decrepitude  ? 


CHAPTER   XXV 

' THE    DEAD    HAND ' 

'  So,  Mademoiselle  Pernelle,  you  are  going  to 
buy  a  vineyard  and  build  what  they  call  over 
the  water  a  cottage  ?  Spend  your  Sundays 
out  of  town,  eh  ? ' 

Pernelle  smiled  at  the  speaker,  cloth  mer- 
chant from  her  own  street,  and  let  him  have 
his  way.  The  gaping  outside  world  must  be 
satisfied  with  a  motive  of  some  kind,  when- 
ever we  do  an  unusual  thing.  Suburban 
retreats  from  the  torrid  Dijon  summer  were 
not  in  her  thoughts  just  then,  nor  were  her 
quick  business  faculties  alert.  She  had  come 
to  buy,  that  was  all.  The  profitableness  of 
such  an  investment  was  a  secondary  matter. 

'  Good  day,'  said  another  neighbour,  portly 
hardwareman  from  the  next  street.  '  We  won't 
quarrel  about  this  plot  of  ground,  mademoiselle, 
but  I  have  long  wished  for  a  summer-house  and 


THE  DEAD  HAND'  287 


garden  within  a  walk  of  the  town.  And,'  here 
he  dropped  his  voice,  '  if  we  are  both  disap- 
pointed to-day,  never  mind.  The  seigneurs 
are  taking  fright,  and  no  wonder.  All  Burgundy, 
all  France,  will  be  in  the  market  before  the 
year  is  out.1 

He  glanced  approvingly  from  her  tricolour 
rosette  to  his  own.  '  I  mean  to  say  that  things 
are  moving  fast  in  the  right  direction.  Why 
should  one  man  possess  half  a  province  which 
he  turns  into  a  desert,  whilst  thousands  of  poor 
wretches  cannot  obtain  as  much  as  a  square 
foot  ?  All  our  people  want  is  a  bit  of  land, 
and  see  what  they  do  with  it  when  they  get 
the  chance.' 

Beyond  Huguette's  tiny  croft  and  plots  of 
rye  and  cabbage,  lay  others  cultivated  with 
equal  care,  not  an  inch  wasted. 

The  speaker  continued  in  the  same  good- 
natured,  half-contemptuous  strain,  much  as  if 
he  were  criticising  an  alien  or  inferior  race — 

'The  peasant  is  a  good  Catholic — as  Catholics 
go.  Let  the  cure's,  however,  say  what  they 
choose,  Mother  Earth  is  his  goddess,  the 
almanack  his  prayer-book,  the  seasons  his 
patron  saints.  Paganism,  you  may  call  it — no 


288  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

other  creed  will  save  France.     But  who  in  the 
name  of  Heaven  is  yonder  scarecrow  ?' 

It  was  Fortune,  Renard  the  ubiquitous.  No 
longer  icicled  with  tricolour  streamers,  in  his 
sky  -  blue  bourgeois  coat,  faded  red  satin 
waistcoat,  and  breeches  the  hue  of  freshly 
peeled  walnuts,  he  yet  presented  a  nondescript 
appearance  enough,  his  assumed  importance 
heightening  the  effect.  Had  the  withered  little 
man  alone  and  unaided  stormed  the  Bastille,  had 
he  been  named  by  the  States  General  Governor 
of  Burgundy,  he  could  not  have  showed  more 
assurance.  Alternately  crying  his  wares — the 
ex-smuggler  to-day  hawked  newspapers — and 
shouting  '  Long  live  the  nation ! '  he  made  his 
way  through  the  crowd.  Old  acquaintances 
and  boon  companions  were  nodded  to,  that  was 
all.  Condescension  on  his  part  did  not  go  so 
far  as  a  single — How  d'ye  do. 

Neither  auctioneer,  valuer,  notary,  nor  their 
clerks,  had  as  yet  arrived.  Coolly  taking  up 
his  position  on  the  spot  reserved  for  these 
important  functionaries,  springing  to  the  im- 
provised platform  opposite  the  cabin  door,  he 
opened  his  harangue,  none  more  genuine 
delivered  during  the  Revolution. 


'THE  DEAD  HAND'  28!) 

'  My  little  innocents  and  white  -  haired 
bantlings,  poppets  who  have  seen  threescore 
years  and  ten,  weanlings  who  limp  upon 
crutches,  you  pretty  kids,  lambkins,  puppies, 
and  goslings,  come  into  the  world  before 
myself.  Oh !  you  open  your  eyes,  do  you, 
darlings,  your  ears  too  ?  as  well  you  may. 
Hearken,  then,'  here  he  waved  a  newspaper 
above  his  head.  '  The  world  has  turned  upside 
down  since  folks  put  on  night-caps  and  bed- 
gowns two  days  ago — ay,  and  tumbled  head 
over  heels  like  Harlequin  at  the  fair.  You 
don't  believe  me?  Here  you  have  it,  then,  in 
black  and  white  ' — 

One  listener,  more  officious  than  the  rest, 
would  fain  have  snatched  the  newspaper  from 
his  hand.  Fortune  deftly  evaded  the  gesture. 

'  Oh !  you  want  to  show  off  your  book- 
learning,  monsieur,  do  you  ?  but  wait  a  bit, 
my  fine  scholar.  If  I  can't  make  out  these  dots 
and  twists  and  twirls  and  whirligigs,  I  can 
remember  what  wiser  folks  tell  me,  write  that 
down  in  my  own  way,  and  on  something  more 
solid  than  paper.' 

As     he     spoke,    he    tapped     his    forehead 
knowingly. 
19 


290  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

1  Bravo,  bravo  ! '  shouted  a  bystander  ;  '  out 
with  your  wonderful  news,  then,'  his  interruption 
being  followed  by  a  peal  of  laughter.  The 
country  folks  all  knew  the  odd  little  figure  now 
so  pompously  haranguing  them  from  the  estrade. 
His  appearance,  presence,  and  self-assumption 
seemed  an  excellent  joke.  Fortune  was  not 
to  be  laughed  out  of  countenance  or  out  of  his 
place. 

'  What  did  I  tell  you  on  this  very  spot  three 
months  ago,  when  the  vine  was  in  flower  and 
Huguette  lay  dead  ?  You  all  giggled  then  as 
you  are  giggling  to-day ;  but  wait  a  bit,  listen 
awhile,  you  will  see  who  was  right,  you  or  I.' 

Huguette's  name  now  passed  from  mouth 
to  mouth ;  one  by  one,  his  audience  grew  silent 
and  attentive ;  the  bourgeois  lookers-on,  farther 
off,  also  watched  and  listened.  How  diverting 
are  these  rustics !  their  faces  said  ;  how  more 
than  diverting  will  be  yonder  orator's  discom- 
fiture when  auctioneer  and  notaries  arrive ! 

Fortune",  small  and  spare  as  he  was,  possessed 
a  voice  of  amazing  volume  and  piercingness. 
Far  and  wide  his  utterances  could  be  heard  now. 
The  crowd  of  villagers  became  mute  as  folks 
at  a  funeral,  their  neighbours  from  the  town 


'THE  DEAD  HAND'  291 

gradually  forgot  to  titter.  Every  word  reached 
the  farthermost  present. 

'  When  the  vine  was  in  flower,'  continued 
the  speaker,  '  we  were  all  gathered  here  as  we 
are  gathered  at  this  very  moment.  I  repeated 
Huguette's  dying  words.  Poor  soul,  she  had 
no  more  book-learning  than  myself,  but  for  all 
that  she  was  a  master- woman  '- 

He  took  off  his  hat,  indicating  respect  for 
theme  so  solemn,  several  standing  by  did  the 
same,  then  he  went  on  in  a  grave  and  yet 
graver  tone — 

' "  Horror  and  darkness  are  upon  the  land, 
but  following  after,  days  such  as  the  like  of  us 
have  never  seen.  Heaven  has  not  forgotten 
the  peasant.  It  is  night  with  him  now,  the 
dawn  is  there !  " 

Imitating  the  dead  woman's  tone  and  action, 
he  repeated  the  words,  as  he  did  so,  point- 
ing eastward.  Then,  with  a  sudden  brusque 
movement,  look,  tone,  attitude  changed  from 
funereal  sobriety  to  exuberant  mirth,  he  tossed 
his  hat  in  the  air,  footed  a  measure,  blew  kisses 
to  Douce  and  Jeanne,  finally  resumed  his 
discourse. 

'  Those  who  can  may  read  for  themselves  ; 


292  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

meantime,  here  are  the  chief  items  of  news,  news 
enough  to  raise  the  dead  from  their  graves.' 

He  held  up  his  flying  sheet,  and,  finger  on 
paragraph,  began  to  read,  rather  to  repeat, 
his  well  -  conned  lesson.  Memory  does  not 
necessarily  imply  book  -  learning,  and  indeed 
often  the  reverse,  some  of  the  emptiest  pates 
in  the  world  being  steeped  through  and  through 
with  printer's  ink. 

'  Hear,  then,  what  took  place  at  Versailles 
on  the  Fourth  of  August,  in  the  year  of  grace 
seventeen  hundred  and  eighty-nine.  Item  one — 
This  does  not  concern  a  vagabond  like  myself, 
whose  taxes ' — here  he  rubbed  his  back,  arms, 
and  legs — '  have  been  taken  out  with  the  cowhide 
in  kind ;  but  what  say  you,  friend  Pierre,  to  this 
decree  of  the  National  Assembly,  and  you, 
Father  Robert  ?  From  to  -  day,  dukes  and 
marquises,  ay,  bishops  and  cures,  are  to  pay 
king's  taxes  as  well  as  you  two  and  other  poor 
clodhoppers  like  you  ! ' 

'  Let  some  one  read  the  Paris  journal  to  us 
all,'  cried  an  impatient  hearer. 

Fortune"  negatived  the  proposal  with  a 
huffish  air,  and  pretended  to  pocket  his  news- 
paper. 


THE  DEAD  HAND'  293 


'  Will  every  one  be  quiet  ?  '  he  asked.  '  I 
tell  you  I  know  what  is  printed  here  as  well  as 
those  who  spoke,  penned,  and  printed  it.  Item 
two,  since  you  let  me  proceed :  Seigneurs 
abolished  ;  that  is  to  say,  from  the  said  Fourth 
of  August,  the  seigneur  who  was  a  god  is 
done  away  with.  No  more  scouring  across  the 
peasant's  cornfield  with  horse  and  hounds,  no 
more  pillories  and  gibbets  at  his  chateau  gates, 
no  more  pouncing  upon  the  poor  for  tenths 
and  twentieths,  no  more  dovecots  and  rabbit 
warrens,  and — open  your  ears,  Jeanne,  Douce, 
and  all  good  women — no  more  carrying  your 
corn  to  the  seigneur's  mill,  nor  dough  to  the 
seigneur's  oven.' 

There  was  such  conviction  in  Fortune's  voice 
and  manner,  such  a  defiance  of  doubt  in  his 
conduct,  that  loud  vivats  now  rent  the  air.  The 
reformations  so  passionately  desired,  so  hoped 
for  against  hope,  were  believed  in,  and  on  the 
strength  of  an  outlaw's  word.  With  a  lie  on 
his  lips,  would  he  have  ventured  to  stand  there, 
not  only  all  the  neighbours  but  townsfolk  being 
by,  and  not  only  neighbours  and  townsfolk,  but 
a  stray  gendarme  or  two,  a  process-server, 
even  an  officer  of  the  excise  ? 


294  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Louder  and  louder  grew  the  huzzas,  louder 
and  louder  Fortune's  voice. 

4  Will  you  let  me  proceed,  neighbours  ? '  he 
cried  once  more.  '  The  best  is  yet  to  come. 
Well,  we  are  getting  on.  Item — is  it  three, 
thirteen,  or  thirty  ? — you  will  find  it  here,  those 
of  you  who  can  read.  Yesterday,  then,  the 
law  was  a  commodity  to  be  bought,  justice  a 
matter  of  louis  d'or  (easy  to  understand  how 
little  we  have  ever  got  of  it — eh,  neigh- 
bours ?).  To-day,  yes,  to-day,  the  new  order 
of  things  begins.  No  more—  And  that 
reminds  me ' — 

Just  then  three  officious  personages  were 
seen  elbowing  their  way  towards  the  estrade. 
The  new-comers,  who  had  the  moment  before 
alighted  from  a  caleche,  carried  large  shiny 
black  portfolios,  and  the  foremost  wore  notary's 
cap  and  gown.  Bustling  forward,  evidently 
much  surprised  at  not  being  made  way  for,  they 
caught  the  words — '  That  reminds  me  of  main- 
morte,  the  law  of  the  Dead  Hand,  according  to 
which  Huguette's  vineyard  was  to  be  sold  to- 
day. Don't  you  know  it,  gentlemen,'  he  added, 
speaking  to  the  new  -  comers,  '  and  you  come 
from  Dijon  ?  you  will  do  no  business  here  to- 


'THE  DEAD  HAND'  295 

day.      Not  my  effrontery   but    the    newspaper 
tells  you  that.      Read  if  you  will.' 

So  saying,  he  tossed  a  journal  to  the  foremost 
of  the  three.  Dashing  it  contemptuously  to 
the  ground,  urging  on  his  companions,  the  out- 
raged auctioneer  made  for  the  stand.  A 
moment  later,  the  hitherto  gay  and  peaceful 
scene  became  one  of  violence  and  confusion. 
Cheers  and  vivats  gave  way  to  hisses  and 
execrations,  fisticuffs  were  freely  exchanged,  the 
representatives  pf  yesterday's  law  were  driven 
back,  hustled,  buffeted.  In  the  horrid  metee 
that  ensued,  there  were  soon  numbers  set  against 
three. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

LOVE     AND     REVOLUTION 

A  FEW  minutes  before,  Pernelle  had  received 
unexpected  greeting.  Whilst  watching  the 
peasant  folk  and  listening  to  their  tribune,  a 
man's  figure  passed  and  repassed  her  caleche, 
then,  having  evidently  summoned  courage  to 
approach,  the  stranger  addressed  her  by  name. 
It  was  some  one  she  knew,  yet  at  first  sight 
failed  to  recognise.  Tailor  and  barber  had 

o 

transformed  the  out-at-elbows  seigneur  into  a 
meanly  -  clad  but  respectable  gentleman.  To- 
day the  Marquis  de  Velours  wore  neither 
tattered  lace,  faded  brocade,  nor  silver  shoe- 
buckles  engraved  with  the  fleur  de  Us ;  in- 
stead, the  sober  middle-class  costume  borrowed 
from  America  and  England.  Black  cotton 
stockings,  long-lappeted  coat  and  breeches  of 
dark  cloth,  made  him  less  picturesque,  they 
did  not  detract  from  a  certain  air  of  decayed 


LOVE  AND  REVOLUTION  297 

gentility  and  forlorn  high  breeding.  It  was 
curious  that,  although  so  lately  in  her  thoughts, 
although  she  was  here  on  his  account,  his 
presence  should  come  as  a  great  surprise. 

And  Pernelle  Nesmond,  no  fine  lady  ac- 
customed to  conceal  her  thoughts,  but  a  woman 
of  business,  direct,  outspoken,  straightforward- 
ness itself,  at  once  let  him  see  what  was  in  her 
mind.  None  stood  by,  the  hood  of  the  caleche 
lent  security  from  eavesdroppers.  With  a  glow 
of  shame,  not  for  herself  but  for  him,  and  a  tone 
of  keenest  reproach,  she  exclaimed— 

'  You  are  going  to  desert  your  country  in  its 
hour  of  need — to  emigrate  ?  Your  dress  tells 
me  that.' 

He  confronted  her  discommending  look  with 
a  sad  smile.  Bareheaded — before  a  lady  of 
royal  house  he  could  not  have  shown  more 
deference — he  said — 

'  My  country  is  synonymous  with  my  king. 
You  forget,  mademoiselle,  that  I  was  born 
before  yourself,  too  early  for  Revolution.' 

A  noble-minded,  enthusiastic  woman,  especi- 
ally if  conscious  of  youth  and  beauty,  ever 
clings  to  the  hope  of  winning  others,  making 
converts  zealous  as  herself. 


298  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  But  not  too  early  for  redress,'  she  said, 
speaking  very  quickly,  feeling  that  this  might 
be  her  last  chance — she  must  make  an  impres- 
sion now,  or  perhaps  would  have  no  other 
opportunity.  '  Not  too  early  for  example,  and 
the  example  of  one  in  your  position  may  do  so 
much.  What  France  needs  now  is  initiative, 
self-sacrifice  in  high  places.  Unless  the 
necessity  of  Revolution  is  acknowledged,  acted 
upon,  alas  for  us  all ! ' 

He  was  in  no  hurry  to  finish  the  argument, 
although  sure  of  being  worsted.  Leaning 
forward,  his  arms  resting  on  the  door  of  the 
carriage,  he  replied,  again  smiling — ever  with 
the  smile  of  a  desperate  man— 

'  The  necessity  you  speak  of  seems  already 
to  have  been  acted  upon  with  a  vengeance. 
That  is  to  say,  if  all  we  hear  is  true.  But, 
mademoiselle,  were  my  pitiful  example  indeed 
worth  anything  at  all,  just  pause,  reflect — is  it 
likely  that  I  should  throw  over  inherited  creeds, 
traditions,  ideals,  in  an  hour  and  at  the  bidding 
of  a  mob  ?  ' 

'  Creeds,  traditions,  ideals,  may  be  falsified, 
proved  untenable,  even  iniquitous,'  Pernelle 
put  in. 


LOVE  AND  &tiWLUT10N  2<)9 

'  Granting  that — granting  more  than  that,  is 
my  dilemma  less  cruel  ?  I  should  rather  say, 
is  the  path  of  duty  thereby  obscured,  rendered 
doubtful  ?  Great  causes  also  become  personal, 
are  not  to  be  separated  from  their  leaders.  Am 
I,  from  your  point  of  view,  traitor  to  the  people? 
Should  I  not  prove  doubly,  trebly  a  traitor,  by 
casting  in  my  lot  with  theirs  ? ' 

'  Oh,'  Pernelle  cried,  her  voice  heavy  with 
suppressed  misgiving,  '  must  it  come  to  that — a 
severance  of  the  French  people  into  two  camps, 
warfare  of  brethren  ? ' 

He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  his  expression 
became  grave  as  her  own.  Then  the  reckless 
gaiety  of  his  nature  asserted  itself.  The  country 
verged  towards  an  avalanche,  none  could  pre- 
dict the  morrow  ;  whatever  might  happen,  his 
own  case  was  past  remedy. 

But  the  sun  shone  over  the  pleasant  scene, 
a  small  hand  imploringly  touched  his  own,  a 
sweet,  passionate  voice  recalled  the  fact  of 
being  appealed  to,  confided  in  ;  bent  towards 
him  was  the  one  face  he  deemed  adorable. 

'  Why  so  cast  down  ? '  he  said.  '  The 
greatest  misfortunes  often  prove  sovereign 
cure.  Who  knows  what  a  universal  deluge 


300  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

may  not  do  for  us  from  a  moral  point  of  view 
in  evolving  the  heroic  ?  Even  a  poor  creature 
like  myself  may  vindicate  himself;  and  let  me 
tell  you ' — 

Here  he  dropped  his  voice,  and — was  she 
dreaming — did  a  tear  dim  his  eye  ? 

'  Let  me  tell  you  for  once  and  for  all,  had  I 
not  a  touch,  a  vestige,  of  the  heroic  in  me,  you 
would  need  say  no  more.  For  the  sake  of  a 
word,  a  smile,  I  were  on  your  side,  won  over 
to  the  popular  cause,  the  hated  Tricolour- 
traditions,  creeds,  all  the  fine  things  I  boasted 
of  just  now  cast  to  the  four  winds.' 

A  few  months  before,  the  young  milliner 
would  have  resented  such  a  speech  as  an  affront, 
no  honest  gentleman,  indeed,  would  have 
ventured  to  make  it.  The  fall  of  the  Bastille 
and  the  Fourth  of  August  had  destroyed 
feudalism ;  the  admission  of  the  Third  Estate, 
of  the  Commons,  to  the  deliberations  of  the 
assembly  with  noblesse  and  clergy,  had  broken 
down  social  barriers.  A  few  months  before, 
the  marquis  could  not  have  spoken,  Pernelle 
could  not  have  listened.  Unconsciously,  in 
spite  of  himself,  he  was  influenced  by  the 
Revolution. 


LOVE  AND  REVOLUTION  301 

'  Say  that  you  believe  me,'  he  added  ;  '  my 
poor  little  bit  of  heroism,  my  unworthy  sacrifice, 
will  then  have  had  their  reward.' 

'  Why  should  I  not  believe  you  ? '  Pernelle 
said,  simply  and  very  sorrowfully.  She  also 
was  influenced  by  the  social  aspects  of  the  great 
movement.  The  declaration  of  a  noble  marquis 
to  a  tradeswoman  called  forth  no  blush  of 
shame,  no  haughty  rebuke.  It  flashed  upon 
her  as  a  revelation  that  this  idler  amid 
dilapidated  surroundings,  this  social  nonentity 
despised  by  her  own  class,  had  yet  something 
in  common  with  its  leaders.  His  present 
aloofness  from  people  and  bourgeoisie  might 
be  due  to  magnanimous  scruple.  And,  least 
sentimental  of  womankind,  schooled  to  regard 
love  in  the  romantic  sense  as  unbecoming,  even 
immoral,  Pernelle  was  yet  capable  of  deep 
feeling.  Velours'  shattered  fortunes  had  already 
touched  her,  his  loneliness  touched  her  now,  no 
less  so  his  craving  for  sympathy  and  affection. 
But  his  next  speech  was  to  bring  them  still 
nearer  together. 

'There  is  a  bond  between  us,'  he  added,  the 
pitifulness  of  his  story  emboldening  him,  her 
tear  of  fellowship  making  the  rest  easy.  '  Our 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


good   friend,    Father    Albin — whose    guest,    I 
should   rather  say,    whose   dependent   I    am— 
has,  I  see,  blabbed.      I  know  you,  high-minded 
benefactress  even  of  your  enemies  ' — 

'  No,  no,  do  not  use  that  word  of  a  fellow- 
countryman,'  she  interposed  passionately. 

'  But  it  is  the  true  one,  no  other  applies,'  he 
replied,  mischievously  taking  advantage  of  her 
own  embarrassment,  forgetting  everything  else 
in  the  deliciousness  of  the  moment.  As  a 
convent-bred  miss  of  sixteen  hearing  her  first 
compliment,  Pernelle  held  down  her  head  now. 
He  was  impressing,  subduing,  winning  this 
first,  last  love  of  his  life. 

'  There  is  a  bond  between  us,'  he  went  on 
smilingly,  no  longer  himself,  overcome  by  the 
sweetness  of  his  triumph.  '  I  know  your  errand 
here  :  it  is  to  pay  down  ready  money  for  my 
last  bit  of  land,  to  prevent  me  from  starving. 
Supposing  the  tables  turned,  such  service 
rendered  you  by  a  noble  marquis  would  not 
alter  our  relations  at  all ;  your  curtseyed  thanks, 
and  the  world  would  be  the  same  to  both  !  But 
your  hand ' — his  voice  faltered  with  passion— 
'  your  beautiful  hand  held  out  to  me,  your  un- 
bidden kindness,  accord  the  right  to  adore.' 


LOVE  AND  REVOLUTION  303 

1  Let  us  not  dwell  on  ourselves/  Pernelle 
said.  '  The  time  is  too  solemn.' 

'Should  I  dare  to  speak  out  at  any  other?' 
he  cried.  '  Shall  I  wait  till — till  we  are  both 
empty  shadows,  mere  names  to  those  who 
knew  us  here?  But  let  me  not  look  so  far 
ahead,  rather  think  of  you  as  you  are,  imagine 
you  ever  the  same.  That  is  best.  For  my 
part  '— 

On  a  sudden  he  stopped  short,  listened, 
looked.  Pernelle  uttered  a  little  cry  of  alarm. 

The  scene  before  them  had  changed  in  a 
moment.  Fortune's  bombastic  utterances  were 
lost  in  prevailing  clamour.  Immediately  around 
the  auctioneer's  stand  all  was  uproar  and  con- 
fusion ;  three  figures  were  seen  struggling  vainly 
for  right  of  place.  Above  yells,  shouts,  and 
threats,  the  two  listeners  caught  a  watch- 
word— 

'  Down  with  mainmorte  !  down  with  the  law 
of  the  Dead  Hand  ! ' 

Velours'  presence  of  mind  did  not  forsake 
him. 

'You  know  La  Fontaine  by  heart,  without 
doubt,'  he  said,  with  the  old  cynical  smile.  '  If 
not,  read  the  "Animals  sick  of  the  Plague,"  and 


304  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

think  of  me.  But  you  must  not  stay  here 
another  instant.  Coachman,  quick,  back  to 
Dijon.' 

With  his  own  hand  he  turned   the  horse's 
head,  then,  bowing  low,  hastened  to  the  rescue. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

'  JE    N'EN   AVAIS    NUL    DROIT  ' 

IN  his  immortal  apologue  the  arch  -  fabulist 
recounts  how  the  animals  fell  sick  of  the 
plague,  how  they  assembled  in  conclave,  one 
and  all  confessing  their  sins  and  offering  him- 
self as  expiatory  victim,  with  this  proviso,  that 
no  worse  offender  could  be  found.  We  may 
all  imagine  what  happened.  The  lion,  who 
boldly  admitted  having  gobbled  up  sheep  at 
will,  and  occasionally  the  shepherd,  was  con- 
doned, and  the  poor  ass,  who  had  only  browsed 
on  a  foot  or  two  of  forbidden  grass,  was  torn 
to  pieces.  But  the  fable  does  not  suggest 
any  foregone  conclusion  on  the  part  of  the 
deliberators,  any  long-nursed  prejudice  against 
the  scapegoat.  It  was  rather  the  occasion  than 
the  individual  that  demanded  a  sacrifice.  Had 
no  plague  occurred,  no  disturbance  of  the  exist- 
ing order  of  things  taken  place,  the  donkey 


20 


306  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

would  have  been  left  to  his  stolen  mouthful 
of  hay  as  the  lion  to  his  meal  of  sheep  or 
shepherd. 

La  Fontaine  knew  human  nature  and  human 
society  regarded  as  a  body  politic  too  well  to 
write  otherwise,  and  represent  men  going  out 
of  their  way  for  the  summary  administration  of 
justice,  holding  up  crimes  that  make  looking- 
glasses  of  their  own. 

O 

Perhaps  no  one  present  entertained  a  personal 
grudge  against  Louis  de  Velours.  Many,  with 
Fortune,  liked  him,  felt  for  him,  as  for  some 
brother  in  misfortune  ;  but  he  stood  for  more 
than  one  bad  law,  he  represented  centuries  of 
tyranny  and  abuse  of  abominable  privilege. 
His  very  appearance  on  the  scene  looked  like 
an  insult. 

And  alas,  alas  for  human  weakness!  In  the 
eyes  of  these  poor  people  for  the  first  time  his 
poverty  savoured  of  crime,  affording  excuse 
for  violence  and  disdain.  La  Fontaine's  grand 
fable  was  rehearsed  with  a  vengeance,  acted  to 
the  life  on  the  human  stage. 

Velours'  tall,  attenuated  figure,  making  calm 
way  through  the  crowd,  at  first  attracted  no 
attention.  No  one  expected  him,  and  no  one 


'JE  N'EN  AVAIS  NUL  DROIT'  307 

at  the  outset  recognised  him.  Usually  seen 
abroad  in  shabby  shooting- dress,  velveteen 
coat,  leather  gaiters,  gun  on  shoulder,  his 
present  equipment  served  almost  as  a  disguise. 

It  was  his  voice  that  betrayed,  rather  an- 
nounced him.  Speech  divided  noble  and  peasant 
hardly  less  than  armorial  bearings.  Amid  this 
tumult  of  rough  oaths,  coarse  jokes,  colloquial- 
isms dark  to  the  uninitiated,  Velours'  clear, 
correct  utterance  caught  every  ear. 

1  Neighbours,'  he  said, '  hands  off  these  gentle- 
men, I  command.  A  word  with  you  all,  then 
use  me  roughly  if  you  please ;  only  let  my 
representatives  alone.' 

For  a  moment  all  stood  still.  The  struggling 
auctioneer  and  his  companions  were  unhanded  ; 
there  was  a  brief  pause.  But  one  and  all 
present  were  drunk,  intoxicated  with  stimulant 
far  deadlier  than  alcohol.  Velours'  very  com- 
posure exasperated.  No  need  to-day  for  a 
noble  marquis  to  curse ;  he  came  of  the  class 
whose  business  had  been  to  evoke  curses.  And 
of  little  use  for  him  to  command  either !  The 
year  was  just  a  week  too  old  for  that ! 

After  the  momentary  hush  came  a  derisive 
shout ;  again  the  functionaries  pressed  forward, 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

still  more  roughly  to  be  driven  back.  Fortune, 
not  at  all  divining  Velours'  errand,  exulting 
in  newly -acquired  dignity  and  freedom,  re- 
commenced his  tirade. 

Very  pale,  and  now  with  anger  no  less  than 
alarm,  the  marquis  entreated  a  second  hearing. 

*  My  good  people,'  he  began,  unable  to  hide 
his  contempt,  "am  I  among  reasonable  beings 
or  grown-up  children,  unable  for  a  moment  to 
control  themselves  ?     Let  yonder  gentlemen  go, 
and  listen  to  me.     I  have  something  weighty 
to  communicate.' 

*  And  so  has  he,'  cried  Pierre,  pointing  to  the 
odd  little  figure  on  the  rostrum.    He  entertained 
scant  respect  for  a  seigneur  worse  off  than  him- 
seKL     "Out  with  it,  Fortune,  my  man;  we  are 
all  ears." 

Velours  glanced  round,  and  uttered  an  ejacu- 
lation of  disgust.  Not  a  gendarme  was  in  sight, 
no  emissary  of  the  city  police  was  there  to  whom 
he  could  appeal  His  first  impulse  had  been 
resistance,  a  firm  stand  against  lawlessness  and 
ruffianism.  Seeing  this  hopeless,  anxious  at 
airy  cost  to  avoid  violence,  he  now  motioned 
the  three  officials  to  retire.  The  sale  should 
not,  of  course,  be  persisted  in ;  he  had  arrived 


'JE  WEN  A  VAI8  NUL  DROIT'  300 

at  the  eleventh  hour  to  prevent  it.  But  the 
first  thing  to  consider  was  the  safety  of  his 
friends. 

With  himself,  these  especial  representatives 
of  a  bygone  system  were  personally  unobjec- 
tionable. They  were  known  to  be  worthy, 
respected  men.  But  no  more  than  the  marquis 
could  they  escape  the  odium  of  their  status  and 
profession.  All  four  were  intruders,  offering 
wares  for  sale  which  belonged  to  others. 

o 

Ignorant  as  they  might  be,  these  country  folks 
knew  something  of  seigneurial  law.  They  had 
heard  of  seigneuries  in  which  this  horrible 
privilege  of  the  Dead  Hand  did  not  hold  good, 
in  which  a  childless  possessor  had  yet  the 
right  of  willing  away  his  own. 

A  show  of  yielding  produced  no  good  effect. 
The  unresisting  civilians  were  now  as  roughly 
prevented  from  retreating  as  a  moment  before 
they  had  been  roughly  driven  back.  What 
did  the  people  want  ?  To  humiliate,  to  wreak 
vengeance  ?  They  hardly  knew. 

Velours  grew  desperate. 

'Jeanne,  my  good  friend  Pierre,  my  honest 
father  Robert/  he  cried,  'do  you  not  see  what 
will,  what  must  be,  the  result  of  such  conduct  ? 


310  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

There  is  still  law  in  France.  For  Heaven's  sake, 
interfere  !  let  these  gentlemen  go.  Fortune,'  he 
shouted,  'you  at  least  will  listen  to  me.' 

As  well  address  the  winds !  The  ex-poacher 
and  smuggler  had  no  wish  to  harm  any  one, 
but  he  was  beside  himself  with  tickled  vanity ; 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  too,  he  felt  the 
consciousness  of  moral  strength  ;  for  the  first 
time  he  felt  a  man,  free  to  speak,  act,  enforce 
his  opinion. 

'  My  good  little  Monsieur  le  Marquis,  my 
excellent  comrade,'  he  said,  with  the  unctuous- 
ness  of  one  in  his  cups,  '  not  for  worlds  would  I 
displease  you.  Have  we  not  been  boon  com- 
panions, ay,  and  more,  for  thirty  years  past  ? 
Had  justice  reigned  in  France,  would  noble 
marquises  have  escaped  the  pillory  and  the 
king's  galleys  more  than  poor  smugglers  and 
poachers  like  myself?  No  offence.  Our  pinch 
of  tobacco,  our  barrel  of  salt,  who  is  the  worse 
to-day  ?  And  look  out,  my  good  Monsieur  le 
Marquis ;  get  what  you  can  in  the  general 
scramble.' 

That  reference  to  his  poverty,  his  associates, 
his  connivance,  certain  illegalities  to  which  he 
had  been  accessory,  stung  Velours  to  the  quick ; 


'  JE  N'EN  A  YAK  NUL  DPOIT'  311 

but  he  was  too  much  of  a  cynic,  and  also  of 
an  aristocrat,  to  waste  temper  upon  such  an 
audience.  Underlying  his  sense  of  affront, 
moreover,  was  the  conviction  that  these  good 
people  had  right  on  their  side.  Was  not  their 
resistance  justifiable  ;  even  Fortune's  familiarity 
but  too  well  merited  ?  Looking  back,  he  could 
hardly  blame  himself ;  but  the  truth  remained. 
His  career  had  been  ignoble,  a  vista  to  blush  at. 
Bent  now  only  upon  averting  excess,  perhaps 
bloodshed,  he  did  the  brave,  as  he  hoped, 
beneficent  thing.  Humiliating  himself  to  the 
dust,  he  blurted  out  the  truth. 

'  Neighbours,'  he  said,  not  a  trace  of  passion 
in  look  or  voice,  for  a  moment  his  clear  utter- 
ances subduing  Fortune's  loud  tones,  '  a  word- 
one  word  only.  The  sale  shall  not  take  place. 
I  came  hither  to  say  so,  to  renounce  my  claim, 
and  own  the  injustice  of  mainmorte,  the  law  of 
the  Dead  Hand  '- 

The  renunciation  that  comes  an  hour  too  late 
wears  the  aspect  of  enforced  surrender.  To 
admit  the  injustice  of  a  law  by  which  one's  self 
and  one's  forefathers  have  benefited,  is  to  invite 
the  popular  verdict.  Even  in  worse  odour  are 
then  the  discharged  agents  of  such  privilege. 


312  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

No  oil  cast  upon  troubled  waters  was  Velours' 
speech,  rather  a  brand  held  to  piled -up  com- 
bustibles. Shouts  of  '  Down  with  mainmorte  ! 
Down  with  the  law  of  the  Dead  Hand  ! '  again 
rent  the  air.  Blows  now  fell  thick  and  fast 
upon  the  defenceless  townsmen.  Velours, 
throwing  himself  between  them  and  their  as- 
sailants, received  no  better  treatment.  Vainly 
did  one  or  two  interpose,  among  these  the 
meek-voiced  Douce  and  her  tractable  Felix. 
It  was  not  the  Marquis  de  Velours,  his  auc- 
tioneer, notary,  and  notary's  clerk  folks  were 
maltreating,  but  feudality  itself,  represented  by 
the  hated  law  of  the  Dead  Hand.  Could  any 
deserve  a  worse  fate  ? 


CHAPTER    XXVIII 

PRACTICAL    HEROISM 

PERNELLE  had  not  driven  a  hundred  yards 
before  she  countermanded  the  marquis's  order. 
Alongside  and  in  front  were  the  vehicles  of 
her  friends,  all  making  post  haste  to  Dijon. 
Ensconced  as  she  was,  a  precipitate  descent 
being  hazardous,  she  nevertheless  sprang 
down,  displaying  the  daintiest  ankles  in  the 
world,  white  silk  stockings  embroidered  with 
vermilion-coloured  clocks,  and  shoes — was  ever 
fair  Dijonnaise  ill  shod  ? — of  exquisite  material 
and  fit. 

But  the  young  mercer  was  not  thinking  of 
her  foot-gear  just  then — indeed,  she  could  hardly 
be  said  to  think  at  all.  With  some  highly 
endowed  natures,  presence  of  mind  takes  the 
place  of  deliberation.  Turn  her  back  upon 
danger,  forsake-fellow  men  in  peril  ?  As  soon 

would  she  have  thought  of  fleeing  from  con- 
sis 


314  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

tagious  sickness  in  her  own  home,  or  passing 
a  fallen  child  on  the  highway. 

Just  ahead  was  the  caleche  of  her  neighbours, 
the  cloth  merchant  and  wholesale  dealer  in 
hardware,  whilst  far  advanced  were  two  other 
vehicles,  their  occupants  of  Pernelle's  sex  and 
calling,  but  in  no  humour  for  the  heroic.  What, 
indeed,  could  stout,  middle-aged  ladies  do  in 
such  a  fray  ?  And  although  the  recent  incen- 
diaries were  imputed  to  bands  of  miscreants, 
rather  than  these  peasants,  no  one  knew  the 
exact  truth.  Clearly  it  was  their  first  duty  to 
take  care  of  themselves — and  their  Sunday 
clothes!  Busy  middle -class  women  seldom 
went  so  far  from  home,  and  never  without 
making  elaborate  toilette. 

Pernelle  bade  the  merchants'  driver  halt,  and 
herself  opened  the  carriage  door. 

'Gentlemen,  my  good  friends,'  she  cried, 
'  there  is  not  a  second  to  lose.  Pray  alight 
and  go  with  me.  We  are  no  strangers  to 
yonder  poor  people.  They  may  listen  to 
us!' 

The  pair  inside  looked  at  each  other  and 
never  stirred.  She  stood  resolute,  inviting, 
nay,  commanding  them  to  descend. 


PRACTICAL  HEROISM  315 


1  Mademoiselle, 'began  the  clothier — seniority 
of  years,  extra  bulk  and  stature,  larger  business 
concerns,  accorded  right  of  precedence — '  were 
I  a  younger  man,  a  bachelor — above  all  things, 
were  I  of  less  unwieldy  proportions — I  would 
not  hesitate  an  instant.  Alas  !  obesity  forbids 
Quixotism ! ' 

'  But  not  humanity,'  Pernelle  added  vehe- 
mently ;  tears  of  indignation  and  distress  were 
on  her  cheek,  her  voice  trembled.  'Will  you 
stand  by  and  see  your  fellow-citizens  maltreated, 
hounded  down,  perhaps  killed  ?' 

1  Softly,  softly,  my  dear  young  lady,'  put  in 
the  hardwareman.  '  I  hope  you  don't  regard 
our  peasants  as  assassins  ?  Those  fine  gentle- 
men yonder  can  do  more  for  themselves  than 
we  can  for  them.  And,  like  my  good  friend 
here,  I,  alas!  have  an  impediment' — as  he 
spoke  he  glanced  down  at  his  Falstaffian 
proportions.  '  A  blow  in  the  stomach — excuse 
me,  mademoiselle — is  no  joke  when  a  man 
weighs  fourteen  stone,  and  will  never  see  fifty- 
five  again.  The  noble  marquis  and  his  men 
are  slender  and  nimble  as  schoolboys.  Trust 
them  to  get  out  of  the  scrape.' 

'  Will    you    drive    away   and    leave    me    to 


316  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

interfere  alone  on  their  behalf?  Ah,  a  man 
is  down  ! — it  is  the  marquis  himself! ' 

Uttering  no  syllable  more,  she  left  them, 
making  what  haste  she  could  to  the  scene  of 
conflict. 

Her  fellow  -  townsmen,  turning  very  red, 
looked  after  her,  then  at  each  other.  The 
hardwareman  raised  himself  from  his  seat, 
and  very  reluctantly  and  deliberately  stepped 
out. 

'  I  would  as  soon  venture  on  to  a  battlefield,' 
he  murmured  ;  '  but  the  girl  is  right,  we  are 
bound  at  least  to  show  ourselves.' 

Still  more  slowly  and  circumspectly  the  other 
set  foot  on  the  upper  step,  next  with  great  care 
he  folded  a  white  silk  handkerchief  round  his 
neck — in  moments  of  peril,  a  Frenchman  never 
forgets  his  muffler.  Lastly,  he  alighted,  in- 
dulged in  a  pinch,  passing  the  snuff-box  to 
his  neighbour. 

'  We  had  better  take  our  walking-sticks,'  said 
the  clothier. 

'  Show  fight  with  such  rotundities  as  ours  ?  ' 
was  the  retort.  '  As  well  might  a  fat  slug 
challenge  a  dragon-fly !  No,  no,  moral  force 
only  for  the  like  of  us ! ' 


PRACTICAL  HEROISM  317 

Whilst  moral  force  went  on  all-fours,  might 
needed  no  spur. 

The  two  worthy  merchants,  each  having  a 
cloak  on  his  arm,  as  if  indeed  a  scrimmage 
implied  bad  weather,  had  hardly  made  a  dozen 
paces  by  the  time  Pernelle  was  close  to  the 
vineyard. 

'  Mademoiselle  !  my  dear  young  lady  ! '  they 
shouted,  but  she  hastened  on.  There  was 
command  in  the  very  tap  of  her  high  heels, 
dauntlessness  in  the  adjustment  of  her  pretty 
bonnet.  Nor  was  it  the  first  time  that  this  girl 
of  twenty-two  had  quelled  a  mutiny,  of  domestic 
kind,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  requiring 
courage  and  promptitude. 

'  Mademoiselle  Pernelle ! '  repeated  one 
Frenchman.  '  Prudence  above  all  things.' 

'  You,  a  husband  and  father,  spend  your 
breath  on  warning  a  woman  ! '  added  the  second. 
'  I  should  have  thought  that  by  this  time  you 
knew  better.  The  dear  creatures  would  like 
nothing  better  than  to  storm  a  Bastille  every 
day  of  their  lives.' 

Fortunately  Pernelle  had  nothing  of  the 
tragedy  queen  about  her ;  she  represented  the 
popular  ideal,  consummate  business  woman, 


318  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

just,  if  somewhat  rigorous  employer,  and  she 
was  learned,  could  deal  with  facts  and  contracts 
like  a  notary,  with  books  like  a  cure.  She  had 
been  everywhere,  that  is,  to  Lyons,  Marseilles, 
Paris,  her  experience  counting  as  much  as  her 
taste.  No  stalls  could  vie  with  her  own  in 
made-up  millinery,  whilst  for  christening  robes, 
confirmation  caps,  veils,  scarves,  and  bridal 
coifs,  she  also  stood  first.  Whenever  a  village 
beauty  was  about  to  wed,  her  finery,  no  matter 
on  how  small  a  scale,  came  from  the  '  Coiffe 
a  Merveille.'  Born  democrat  before  democracy 
floated  in  the  air,  she  encouraged  such  rustic 
custom,  made  the  country  folks  feel  at  home 
with  her,  fitted  them,  suited  their  fancy  as  if 
they  were  great  ladies.  Her  manner  would  be 
abrupt,  slightly  contemptuous,  always  domin- 
eering. This  they  relished.  Such  reputation 
served  Pernelle  in  good  stead  to-day. 

Affairs  speedily  took  a  serio  -  comic  turn. 
With  as  little  ado  as  if  she  were  quieting  some 
domestic  insurrection,  she  now  made  her  way. 
By  an  adroit  wave  of  one  hand,  heavy  Jeanne 
was  sent  a-flying ;  as  unceremoniously  by  the 
other,  Pierre's  arm  was  pinched  till  he  cried 
for  mercy.  A  smart  box  on  the  ear  brought 


PRACTICAL  HEROISM  319 

the  nearest  stone-thrower  to  his  senses.  Two 
burly  fellows,  harmless  as  lambs  till  yesterday, 
but  now  bent  on  mischief,  fell  back  under 
her  scathing  glance  and  merciless  rating.  No 
sooner  did  Fortune  catch  sight  of  his  enraged 
benefactress,  than  he  slid  from  his  stand  with 
swift,  lizard-like  movement  and  hid  himself 
behind  others.  From  one  end  of  the  crowd  to 
the  other  were  heard  low,  disconcerted  cries— 

'  Mademoiselle  Pernelle! — it  is  Mademoiselle 
Pernelle ! ' 

It  was  less  her  audacity,  her  fearless  inter- 
position, than  the  sudden  appeal  to  reason, 
that  wrought  miracles  now.  Here  incarnate 
was  homely  common  sense,  self-preservation, 
the  fitness  of  things. 

Not  a  rioter  present  but  would  have  taken 
to  his  heels  had  flight  been  possible.  Hemmed 
in  between  cabin  and  vineyard,  forming  a 
compact  phalanx,  all  stood  abashed,  sheepish 
as  penned  flock  awaiting  the  shearer. 

'  Must  I  call  out  all  the  gendarmerie  of 
Dijon?'  she  cried,  in  that  far-reaching,  con- 
science-smiting voice  her  underlings  knew  so 
well.  '  Must  I  blush,  turn  my  back,  pretend 
not  to  see  you  when  next  you  want  goods  of 


ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


mine  ?  Men  unworthy  of  the  name,  women 
shaming  the  titles  of  wife  and  mother,  ask  your 
patron  saints  and  confessor  for  pardon — not  me. 
Bear  up  yonder  gentlemen.  Make  way  for 
Monsieur  le  Marquis ! ' 

'  I  don't  think  Monsieur  le  Marquis  is  hurt 
much,  mademoiselle ;  and  I  hope  you  will  bear 
witness  to  it,'  whimpered  Jeanne,  apron  to  her 
eyes,  '  neither  Pierre  nor  myself  have  lifted  a 
finger  against  those  townsfolk  ! ' 

'  And  how  many  on  their  behalf,  pray  ? '  was 
the  biting  answer.  Pernelle  knew  her  people 
well.  Lackadaisical  appeal,  mild  entreaty, 
were  here  out  of  place.  A  sound  rating  is 
ever  the  best  argument  with  ignorant  misdoers. 

'  Fall  back,  every  one  of  you,'  Pernelle 
continued  in  the  same  short,  sharp  manner, 
surprising  the  most  mutinous  into  passive 
obedience.  '  Felix,  Douce,  you  here  ?  I 
should  not  have  expected  it!  Fetch  water  from 
yonder  spring.  Fortune,  must  you  ever  be  by 
when  mischief  is  brewing  ?  Run  as  fast  as 
your  legs  can  carry  you  to  the  presbytery  for 
linen  and  cordials.  Are  you  indeed  hurt, 
Monsieur  le  Marquis  ? '  she  added,  motioning 
forward  her  neighbours  the  clothier  and  hard- 


PRACTICAL  HEROISM  321 

wareman.  Meantime  the  three  functionaries 
had  shaken  themselves,  and  although  presenting 
a  rueful  appearance  enough,  were  not  seriously 
injured.  Battered  hats,  torn  garments,  scratched 
and  bleeding  faces,  and  one  or  two  ugly  bruises, 
bore  witness  to  the  nature  of  their  escape,  and,  • 
as  they  now  morosely  said  to  each  other,  would 
furnish  an  ample  report  for  the  police. 

But  Velours  was  less  fortunate.  He  had 
fallen,  or  rather  been  flung  down,  the  entire 
weight  of  his  body  and  of  his  assailant  pressing 
upon  one  arm  ;  as  they  helped  him  to  rise,  it 
fell  helplessly  by  his  side. 

1  La  Fontaine's  fable  acted  to  the  life,'  he  said, 
smiling  despite  sharp  bodily  anguish.  '  I  had 
no  right  to  the  vineyard — ah !  mademoiselle, 
your  hand ' — 

Some  graver  but  less  obvious  injury  had  been 
incurred  ;  only  Pernelle's  ready  support  pre- 
vented him  from  falling,  The  two  merchants, 
who  now  came  up,  lent  their  aid,  Douce,  and 
Felix  helped  as  best  they  could.  Soon  Fortune* 
returned,  bringing  cordial  and  liniment,  bandages 
and  sponge ;  behind  him,  at  a  less  rapid  pace, 
following  the  parish  priest.  A  brief  consulta- 
tion was  held,  then  with  all  possible  expedition 

21 


322  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

they  lifted  the  marquis  into  a  carriage,  and  all 
three  vehicles  were  driven  back  to  Dijon. 
Meantime  the  crowd  had  dispersed  as  revellers 
caught  in  a  thunderstorm.  Only  Fortune, 
Douce,  and  Felix  witnessed  the  departure. 

'Humph!'  said  the  foremost,  shaking  his 
head  ;  '  I  said  all  along  how  it  would  be.' 

His  companions  walked  home  dumbfounded 
and  crestfallen.  They  had  no  spirit  to  deny 
the  assertion. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE    COST    OF    REVOLUTION 

'  How  mighty  cross  sister  Pernelle  has  been 
of  late/  said  Barbe  to  Berthe  one  morning. 
'  She  is  perpetually  vaunting  this  Revolution 
of  hers.  How  much  good  has  it  done  us,  I 
should  immensely  like  to  know  ? ' 

Berthe  answered  with  her  hard  little  laugh. 

'  Shall  I  tell  you  what  is  going  to  happen  ? 
I  peeped  at  sister's  last  letter  to  Uncle  Parfait. 
"  Business  is  so  slack,"  she  wrote,  "  that  unless 
things  soon  mend,  we  shall  all  have  to  meet  a 
crisis." 

'  A  crisis  ?  What  on  earth  does  that 
mean  ? ' 

'  That  everybody  in  Dijon  will  have  to  shut 
up  shop,  ourselves  included.  Well,  I  for  one 
should  not  cry.' 

'  I  suppose  we  should  live  in  the  country, 
keep  poultry,  and  make  our  own  jam  ? ' 


323 


324  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

1  Much  you  know  about  it !  A  crisis  means 
bankruptcy,  and  bankruptcy  means  having  no 
money  at  all.  But  how  delightful  to  get  situa- 
tions in  Paris — see  the  Palais  Royal  and  the 
Montgolfier  balloon  !  I  am  sick  to  death  of 
perpetually  staring  at  Jacquemart  and  his  wife, 
and  hearing  them  strike  the  hours.' 

Barbe  reflected.  Reflection  was  an  accom- 
plishment in  which  her  twin  was  no  adept.  It 
did  not  seem  to  this  astute  little  woman  of 
sixteen  that  service  even  in  Paris  would  offer 
unalloyed  delight. 

'  And  then,'  continued  Berthe,  '  how  dull 
to  sit  behind  the  counter  from  morning  to 
night,  without  selling  so  much  as  a  pair  of 
garters ! ' 

'  Nobody  has  any  money,'  was  the  reply. 

'  What  nonsense ! '  Berthe  replied  pettishly. 
'  People  must  have  money,  because  they  cannot 
do  without  it.  But  here  comes  Pernelle.  Let 
us  knit  away.' 

Time  and  the  clock  stay  not  for  Revolution. 
To  the  quick,  impetuous  Dijonnais,  it  seemed 
as  if  their  Fleming  on  Notre  Dame  raised 
his  baton  at  shorter  intervals  than  before. 
Years  rolled  on,  seasons  sped,  hours  and 


THE  COST  OF  REVOLUTION  325 

days  glided  by,  one  and  all  indelibly  marked 
in  history. 

Just  twelve  months  after  the  delirium  of 
liberty  had  come  the  delirium  of  brotherhood, 
an  ebullition  of  humanity  following  an  ebullition 
of  justice. 

On  the  Fourth  of  August  of  one  year  was 
pronounced  the  famous  Declaration  of  the 
Rights  of  Man  -  -  Magna  Charta,  Habeas 
Corpus,  and  Petition  of  Rights,  now  for  the 
first  time  become  law  in  France.  On  the 
second  great  Fourteenth  of  July  took  place 
the  Fete  of  Federation. 

For  the  first,  and,  alas !  as  yet  only  time  in 
French  history,  traditions  of  caste  and  creed 
were  set  at  naught.  Noble  and  serf  of  yester- 
day fraternised  as  brethren.  Tonsured  priest 
and  married  pastor  exchanged  apostolic  kiss, 
even  assisted  at  each  other's  ritual.  For  a 
brief  spell,  a  day  only,  all  France  became  one. 
Before  the  sacred  image  of  liberty — I  sis  at 
last  unveiled — a  magnanimous  people  forgot 
its  injuries. 

Meantime,  amid  the  feverish  outbursts  of 
joy  and  shock  of  conflicting  passions,  humdrum 
folks,  whose  business  it  is  to  toil  afield,  in  work- 


326  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

shop  or  under  ground,  to  traffic  on  marketplace 
or  behind  counter,  went  its  usual  way.  Nor, 
at  the  onset,  could  these  tremendous  changes 

o 

render  bread-winning  easier.  On  the  contrary, 
such  an  upheaval  naturally  entailed  confusion 
and  loss.  No  revolution  can  be  accomplished 
by  half-a-dozen  solemn  gentlemen  in  black, 
seated  round  a  table  covered  with  green 
baize.  Least  of  all  could  red  tape  effect  the 
one  great  Revolution  of  history.  The  Upas 
that  had  overshadowed  a  nation,  breathing- 
deadliest  poison,  was  felled,  uprooted.  Its 
branches  no  longer  obscured  the  heavens,  its 
roots  no  longer  sucked  the  very  life  of  the 
soil.  But,  far  and  wide,  maleficent  influences 
retained  vitality,  impeding  healthful  growth, 
diffusing  germs  of  evil.  Stout-hearted,  con- 
fident, France  went  forth  as  a  sower  to  sow. 
The  good  seed  for  awhile  must  fall  on  stony 
places. 

For  the  first  time  Pernelle  Nesmond  con- 
fronted that  hardest  of  all  ordeals  to  an 
energetic  nature,  gradually  slackened  trade, 
an  almost  total  cessation  of  business.  After 
the  Tricolour  harvest  came  a  long  period  of 
inertia.  The  world  of  fashion  and  frivolity  was 


THE  COST  OF  REVOLUTION  327 


on  the  move.  Adherents  to  the  old  order  of 
things  were  fast  crossing  the  sea  or  the  frontier. 
Middle-class  folks  feted  domestic  ceremonial 
with  the  least  possible  outlay.  The  peasants 
hid  their  gold  pieces,  awaiting  the  purchase 
of  land.  When  Pernelle  had  written  thus 
forebodingly  to  her  uncle,  it  was  of  all  Dijon, 
all  shopkeeping  France,  rather  than  of  herself. 
The  national  prospects  were  indeed  gloomy — 
famine  in  one  province,  civil  war  in  another, 
an  empty  treasury  for  the  new  government  to 
fill  as  best  it  could,  on  all  sides,  bankruptcy  or 
impending  ruin.  The  accumulated  debts  of 
centuries,  moral,  social,  material  obligations, 
stared  these  new  rulers  in  the  face. 

In  her  pretty  bed-chamber,  that  also  did 
duty  for  counting-house  and  reception-room, 
Pernelle  sat  over  day-book  and  ledger.  With 
that  extraordinary  alertness  and  grasp  char- 
acterising French  business  women,  she  cast  up 
column  after  column,  added,  deducted,  verified, 
amid  circumstances  that  would  have  driven 
others  mad,  not  in  the  least  put  out  by  con- 
stant interruption. 

Now  Barbe  would  fling  open  the  door  with 
a  customer's  pattern  of  ribbon  or  lace  and  the 


328  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

nearest  match  in  stock.  Could  Pernelle  pro- 
mise an  exact  counterpart  from  Paris  or  Lyons, 
and  how  soon  ?  Next  the  maid-of-all-work 
would  appear,  huge  basket  in  hand.  House- 
keeping then,  as  now,  was  carried  on  by  daily 
marketings.  Did  mademoiselle  wish  for  fresh- 
water crabs  ?  they  were  now  to  be  had  cheap  ; 
and  salmon  trout,  too,  was  plentiful.  A  dozen 
questions  were  asked  and  answered  before  the 
good  woman  took  up  her  basket.  Then  Berthe 
would  burst  in — Berthe  was  perpetually  finding 
excuses  for  a  run — she  wanted  beeswax  for  her 
stitching,  might  she  run  into  the  Rue  Guillaume 
and  fetch  a  lump  ;  also  for  a  feather  broom,  the 
last  had  come  to  pieces  ? 

Meantime  the  auditing  advanced.  Pen  in 
hand,  Pernelle  looked  up,  listened,  deliberated, 
returning  to  her  figures  exactly  at  the  point  at 
which  she  had  left  off.  Not  a  centime  was 
miscalculated,  not  a  date  or  entry  confused. 
Nor  did  the  young  mercer  show  impatience 
or  irritation ;  she  was  accustomed  to  do  so 
many  things  at  once ! 

In  the  midst  of  her  task  Laurent  entered. 

'  Can  I  speak  to  you,  cousin  Pernelle  ? '  he 
asked,  in  his  habitually  cold,  hard  way,  the 


THE  COST  OF  REVOLUTION  329 

manner  of  a  servant  to  just  but  unloved 
employer. 

'  Certainly.      Sit  down.' 

'  I  interrupt,  I  see/  was  the  disconcerted, 
almost  sullen  response. 

'Not  at  all — rather  I  should  say  I  am  used 
to  being  interrupted.  You  know  how  it  is, 
I  have  never  a  second  to  myself.' 

'  Perhaps  you  will  be  freer  towards  evening  ? ' 

'  That  is  extremely  improbable,'  Pernelle 
said,  her  pen  fast  moving  as  she  spoke,  her 
exquisitely  neat,  charming  features  bent  over 
the  huge  ledger. 

Laurent  sat  down  moodily.  Must  it  be  ever 
thus  with  Pernelle  and  himself?  Alike  her 
courtesies  and  her  benefactions  affronted.  He 
had  come  on  the  hardest  errand  a  man  could 
undertake,  to  humble  himself  in  the  dust  before 
this  adorable,  hateful  creature ;  and  her  con- 
descension went  no  further  than  odd  moments, 
intervals  stolen  between  columns  of  day-book 
and  ledger  ?  Laurent  Nesmond  had  grown, 
developed  with  the  years  and  Revolution.  No 
haughty  stripling  now  awaited  this  audience  of 
his  benefactress  and  would-be  protecting  genius. 
Many  things  concurred  to  make  the  young  man 


330  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

very  humble,  and  at  the  same  time  very  proud. 
The  Fourth  of  August  had  placed  him,  with 
every  other  Nonconformist,  on  the  footing  of 
the  orthodox.  For  the  first  time  in  history, 
Jew  and  African  also  enjoyed  civil  and  religious 
rights.  Nor  was  that  all.  Laurent's  little 
patrimony,  confiscated  by  the  ever  accursed 
Revocation,  was  to  be  restored,  the  con- 
sequences as  well  as  the  stigma  of  outlawry 
thereby  annulled. 

Again,  as  a  tradesman  his  position  had 
undergone  a  radical  change.  With  feodality 
had  fallen  a  system  equally  hampering  and 
mischievous,  that  of  trade  guilds  and  corpora- 
tions. A  shopkeeper  or  artisan  could  now 
set  up  where  he  liked,  and  conduct  business 
according  to  the  method  that  best  suited  him. 
He  was  no  longer  bound  hand  and  foot  by 
laws  and  regulations  that  paralysed  rather 
than  stimulated  industrial  enterprise.  The 
tyranny  of  capital  did  not  survive  the  tyranny 
of  rank. 

But  such  blessings  left  the  young  man 
lonely,  embittered  as  before.  In  some  respects 
he  owned  to  himself  that  his  character  had- 
deteriorated  ;  he  was  growing  worldly,  indiffer- 


THE  COST  OF  REVOLUTION  331 

ent,  ready  for  a  future  in  which  the  heart 
hardly  counted.  Worldliness,  indifference,  had 
their  advantage  just  now. 

'  Well  ? '  said  Pernelle,  glancing  up  as  she 
turned  a  leaf  of  her  heavy  duodecimo  and  drew 
the  volume  nearer. 

'  Well  ? ' 


CHAPTER    XXX 

LOVER   AND    LEDGER 

THAT  matter-of-fact  'Well?'  brought  a  still 
colder,  drearier  expression  into  Laurent's  face. 
He  watched  the  beautiful  accountant  for  a 
moment,  smiling  somewhat  bitterly,  then  began. 

'  I  have  a  long  story  to  tell,  my  cousin. 
Have  you  patience  to  listen  ? ' 

'  Go  on ;  never  fear  that  I  shall  lose  a 
syllable,  or ' — hindered  by  the  necessity  of 
holding  pen  in  mouth,  she  now  finished  her 
sentence — '  that  I  will  answer  carelessly,  sup- 
posing you  have  come  for  my  opinion  or 
advice.' 

In  no  gaysome  humour,  Laurent  nevertheless 
laughed  aloud.  '  I  have  come  for  something 
more  important  still.  However,  what  matters  ? 
I  see  that  you  can  quite  well  do  two  things  at 
once — look  over  your  accounts  and  at  the  same 
time  receive  a  proposal  of  marriage.' 

332 


LOVER  AND  LEDGER  333 

The  irony  of  the  situation  came  home  to  him. 
He  thought  sorrowfully  that  sentiment,  even 
affectionateness,  would  have  been  more  out  of 
place. 

Lead-pencils  and  blotting-paper  were  as  yet 
unknown  luxuries.  Drenching  her  figures  with 
the  sand-box,  Pernelle  answered  without  looking 
up- 

'  Although  my  kinsman,  you  are  hardly  the 
person  to  be  charged  with  such  an  embassy.' 

There  was  no  vexation,  only  surprise  in 
her  voice.  Marriages  were  usually  arranged 
through  the  medium  of  friends-  or  relations. 
But  the  business  should  be  undertaken  with  the 
utmost  circumspection,  the  intervener  should 
have  social  weight,  experience,  the  authority  of 
years. 

'  Pray  do  not  misunderstand  me,'  Laurent 
put  in  very  quickly.  '  Not  for  worlds  should  I 
have  taken  the  liberty  of  pleading  for  another. 
If  I  venture  to  do  so  for  myself,  it  is  because  I 
have  no  advocate.' 

Away  went  Pernelle's  pen,  swiftly  moved 
eyes  and  lips  as  she  checked  another  column  of 
figures,  then,  still  holding  the  page,  she  made 
reply. 


334  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  My  poor  Laurent,  are  these  days  for 
betrothal  and  marriage  ?  You  see  how  minutely 
I  am  going  over  my  books.  The  year's  profits 
have  apparently  fallen  to  zero.' 

It  was  characteristic  of  Pernelle  that  she 
kept  to  the  main  issue,  at  once  bent  her  mind 
to  the  present. 

The  past,  in  so  far  as  it  regarded  Laurent 
and  herself,  was  straightway  banished  from 
memory.  He  had  unwillingly  offered  a  cruel 
slight,  he  had  indulged  in  a  foolish,  even 
unworthy  romance.  But,  from  first  to  last,  his 
conduct  was  manly  and  dignified.  No  stain 
rested  on  his  honour ;  and  instead  of  the  poor 
apprentice,  the  dependent,  the  outlaw,  a  man 
stood  before  her  of  comely,  dignified  presence, 
whose  future,  she  felt  sure,  would  shame  no 
woman. 

'  Is  not  that  rather  an  argument  for  me  to 
put  forward  ? '  Laurent  replied,  for  the  first  time 
feeling  unready  of  speech,  aggrieved  at  her 
own  composure.  '  Let  me  go  back  a  little,  my 
cousin,  recall  certain  circumstances  you  seem  to 
have  forgotten.' 

'  Half  a  minute — in  half  a  minute  I  am  at 
your  service,'  Pernelle  said,  pen  and  lips  moving 


LOVER  AND  LEDGER  335 

more  rapidly  than  before.  '  Three  thousand 
livres,  five  sols.  Now  go  on.' 

The  sum-total  was  carried  over,  a  leaf  turned, 
then  another  column  taken  in  hand. 

1  You  have  been  the  providence  of  me  and 
mine,'  he  began. 

'  Four  thousand  livres,  one  sol  —  no,  three 
sols. — Nonsense,  Laurent,  I  but  did  my  duty.' 

Now,  he  hardly  knew  why,  irritated  by  her 
whispered  calculations  and  swiftly-moving  pen, 
he  continued— 

'  To-day  I  but  do  my  own  in  endeavouring 
to  repay  the  debt.  I  see  that  I  can  at  last 
serve  you  ;  that  in  these  troublous  times  even 
my  poor  name  and  protection  may  prove  useful. 
You  spoke  of  unprofitable  seasons.  You  have 
of  course  heard  that  we  Protestants  are  to 
be  reinstated  in  our  former  possessions  or 
indemnified  by  grants  of  money.  Let  my 
paternal  heritage  go,  and  the  sum  I  receive 
instead,  help  to  swell  your  capital,  to  compensate 
for  your  losses.' 

Pernelle  did  at  last  momentarily  pause  in  her 
auditing.  A  look  of  anguish  stole  over  her  face, 
she  seemed  on  the  point  of  tears.  Had  he  at 
last  touched  her  ? 


336  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

1  You  see  how  it  is,  Laurent.  We  cannot 
let  our  country-people  starve,  still  less  our 
country  be  handed  over  to  a  foreign  despoiler. 
I  have  perhaps  been  too  heedless  in  giving,  not 
sufficiently  mindful  of  the  future  ;  and  meantime 
the  rich,  the  spending  class,  have  left  France  to 
perish,  with  their  wealth  are  hiring  mercenaries 
to  crush  her.  Oh,  poor  France !  Let  us  not  talk 
of  it.' 

She  returned  to  her  figures,  voice  and 
expression  indifferent  as  before.  Laurent's 
countenance  fell.  Not  on  his  account  had  she 
testified  momentary  weakness. 

'  The  thought  is  generous.  But  you  would 
feel  the  renunciation  of  your  patrimony,'  she 
said.  '  Hard  to  regain  one  day  and  forfeit 
the  next ! ' 

Laurent's  eyes  grew  dim  with  tears.  His 
thoughts  went  back  to  a  certain  May  day,  when, 
by  Finette's  side,  he  had  yearned  for  this 
good  fortune,  now  come  too  late.  How  well 
he  remembered  his  own  words — '  My  little 
patrimony  restored,  wealth  for  us  both  ! '  But 
Finette  had  faded  from  his  life  as  a  dream ; 
better  to  fix  his  mind  on  actualities  and  such 
consolations  as  they  might  afford,  an  honourable 


LOVER  AND  LEDGER  337 

position,  a  worthy  alliance,  above  all,  the 
consciousness  of  having  atoned  for  wrong-.  He 
knew  it  well  enough — a  girl  of  Pernelle's  high 
spirit  must  feel  the  unintended  slight  he  had 
put  upon  her. 

'You  speak  of  a  trifling  sacrifice,'  he  said. 
'  And — excuse  me  for  the  allusion,  it  is  the  last 
I  will  ever  utter — I  ought  to  have  fallen  in  with 
your  generous  project  from  the  first.' 

'Seven  thousand  five  hundred  livres  to 
balance  against  eight  thousand.  Talkof  anything 
else,  Laurent — forget  that  episode,  if  you  please,' 
Pernelle  exclaimed,  with  warmth  and  a  slight 
accession  of  colour — Frenchwomen  never  blush. 
'  At  any  rate,  we  will  decide  for  once  and  for 
all,  that  it  is  no  argument  against  the  step  you 
now  propose,  and ' — 

Away  went  pen,  fast  as  lips  could  move 
figures  were  gabbled  over ;  the  margin  reached, 
her  sum-total  carried  forward,  she  added — 

'  There  leave  it.  You  cannot  think  the 
worse  of  me  for  my  proposal ;  I  must  respect 
your  motive  for  having  drawn  back.' 

4  Have  you  nearly  got  to  the  end  of  your 
summing  ? '  asked  the  young  man,  with  some 
show  of  impatience. 


22 


338  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

These  betrothals  were  as  unromantic  as  could 
well  be,  the  projected  marriage  was  essentially 
one  of  expediency,  but  alike  betrothals  and 
marriage  were  his  own.  Dislike  of  Pernelle 
had  long  ago  yielded  before  her  serene  for- 
bearance ;  unswerving  kindness  and  generosity 
had  won  him  over  in  spite  of  himself.  Love, 
passion,  were  out  of  the  question  ;  he  did, 
however,  expect  a  little  feminine  sympathy, 
some  change  of  manner,  if  not  of  feeling. 

Once  more  vigorously  plying  the  sand-box, 
Pernelle  turned  a  fresh  leaf,  then  for  a  moment 
leaned  back  in  her  chair. 

'  I  have  got  far  enough  to  see  that  we  have 
an  uphill  task  before  us,  my  poor  Laurent, 
although,  that  I  feel  sure  of,  our  affairs  are  in 
a  much  better  condition  than  those  of  our 
neighbours.' 

The  exquisitely  neat  head  was  again  bent 
down,  and,  pen  in  mouth,  she  rapidly  scanned 
the  open  page. 

' 1  will  call  to-morrow,  or  later  on  to-day, 
when  you  have  made  up  your  books/  Laurent 
said.  There  was  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice 
as  he  added,  '  You  must  at  least  find  a  little 
more  time  for  the  notary.' 


LOVER  AND  LEDGER  339 

'  Are  you  really  going  ?  Look  in  on  Sunday 
at  dinner,  then.  And  do  please  write  to  Uncle 
Parfait.  The  news  will  indeed  delight  him. 
But  I  forget,  he  will  be  here  soon.' 

Laurent  rose,  made  for  the  door,  waited 
hesitatingly,  at  last  returned  to  Pernelle's 
writing-table.  In  his  loneliness  and  craving 
for  affection,  he  felt  such  indifference  keenly. 
Was  she  benevolence  itself,  yet  without  heart, 
pitiful  in  the  extreme,  but  cold  as  ice  ?  Would 
domestic  life  be  bearable  upon  these  terms  ? 

1  May  I  then  regard  the  matter  as  settled— 
consider  myself  your  future  partner,  in  life  as 
well  as  in  business  ? ' 

'  Dear,  good  Laurent,  I  am  sure  we  shall  be 
able  to  help,  support  each  other  through  vary- 
ing fortunes.  And  you  have  ever  exercised 
authority  over  Berthe  and  Barbe.  Hence- 
forth I  shall  hand  them  over  to  you.' 

Laurent  smiled,  although  in  no  smiling 
humour.  Pernelle  was  indeed  taking  him  at 
his  word,  acknowledging  him  her  partner  of 
the  fireside  as  well  as  counting-house. 

'In  all  things  your  wishes  are  commands,' 
was  the  half  -  playful,  half  -  serious  answer. 
'  Adieu,  then,  till  Sunday.' 


340  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Pernelle  was  rapidly  lisping  out  another 
column  of  figures. 

'  Adieu/  she  replied ;  then,  pen  between 
pretty  lips,  with  both  hands  she  readjusted 
her  ledger. 

'  Nay,'  he  said  teasingly, — had  he  not  now 
the  right  to  tease  ?  —  '  the  bond  must  be 
sealed.' 

Stooping  down,  he  claimed  a  bridegroom's 
kiss,  and  willingly  enough  she  gave  it,  but 
without  rising,  without  so  much  as  taking  the 
pen  from  her  mouth.  The  captivating  head 
was  just  held  up,  the  beautiful  forehead  raised 
within  reach  of  his  lips.  That  was  all. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

LOVE 

HARDLY  had  Laurent's  tall  figure  passed  out, 
than  another  presented  itself,  this  time  that 
of  a  stranger.  So  at  least  the  young  mercer 
concluded.  Some  silk  merchant  from  Lyons 
or  ribbon  manufacturer  from  St.  Etienne  had 
come  for  orders,  or,  Heaven  help  them  !  for 
the  accommodation  of  a  loan. 

At  this  period,  business  men  and  women 
thus  stood  by  each  other,  the  least  unprosper- 
ous  helping  their  friends. 

'  A  moment — in  a  moment,  citizen,  I  am  at 
your  service,'  Pernelle  said,  without  rising ; 
she  was  half  -  way  through  a  new  column  of 
figures.  '  Pray  be  seated.' 

The  new-comer  obeyed,  first  having  assured 
himself  that  this  charming  room,  counting- 
house,  boudoir,  and  maiden's  bed-chamber  in 

341 


342  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

one,  was  quite  safe  from  espiers  and  eaves- 
droppers. 

With  a  resounding  clap  that  made  her  visitor 
jump  from  his  seat,  Pernelle  shut  ponderous 
ledger ;  as  a  second  report  came  the  closing 
of  no  less  ponderous  day-book.  Then  the 
young  mistress  of  the  '  Coiffe  a  Merveille  '  rose 
to  salute  her  client.  He  rose  also,  and  stood 
bareheaded,  bending  low. 

The  attitude  betrayed  him.  No  fellow- 
tradesman  would  have  greeted  her  thus  cere- 
moniously. A  cheery  '  how  d'ye  do '  ever 
preceded  business  overtures,  whatever  their 
nature. 

'  Monsieur  le  Marquis ! '  she  cried,  dropping 
into  a  chair.  The  door  had  not  only  closed 
upon  Laurent,  it  had  closed  upon  the  world 
of  every  day. 

'  There  are  no  longer  marquises  in  France 
— have  you  forgotten  ? '  he  said,  smiling  sadly. 
'  My  marquisate,  which  was  indeed  but  a 
name,  disappeared  on  the  Fourth  of  August 
two  years  and  more  ago,  the  day  on  which  you 
saved  my  life  and  other  lives  more  worth  the 
saving.' 

'  I   but  exercised  a  little  common   sense.      I 


LOVE  343 

think  any  woman  would  have  done  the  same,' 
she  replied. 

'  You  risked  your  own  safety  —  there  is 
something  more  than  mere  common  sense  in 
that/  was  the  reply,  Velours  looking  at  her 
adoringly,  wistfully  as  he  spoke.  Oh,  if  this 
conversation  might  be  renewed  to-morrow,  and 
to-morrow,  and  to-morrow  !  his  face  said. 

'  I  have  longed  for  news  of  you/  Pernelle 
continued,  the  absolute  genuineness,  the  un- 
compromising sincerity,  the  legitimate  manli- 
ness, so  to  speak,  of  a  brave  woman's  nature 
never  for  a  moment  forsaking  her.  '  Once  I 
did  see  Father  Albin,  he  told  me  of  your 
recovery,  that  was  all.  I  wanted  to  know 
more/ 

A  flush  of  pleasure  on  Velours'  face  was 
followed  by  an  expression  of  deep,  self-pitying 
anguish.  She  'longed  for  news  of  him,  to 
know  more/  and  every  word  he  had  to  say  for 
himself  must  open  a  gulf  of  separation. 

'  Monsieur  le  Marquis' — 

'  I  am  only  Louis  de  Velours — Monsieur  de 
Velours  if  it  please  you.  To  the  new-fangled 
title  of  Citizen  I  lay  no  claim/ 

All  that  she  yearned  to  hear  was  disclosed 


344  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

in   a  sentence !     The  slight  contemptuousness 
of  his  utterance  escaped  her  notice. 

She  sat  dumbfounded,  as  one  stricken  with 
grief.  Why  should  he  stay  a  single  moment 
longer  ?  What  more  had  they  to  say  to  each 
other  ? 

'  I  have  pained  you  ? '  he  said,  not  with  a 
look  that  asked  for  pardon,  that  pleaded  ex- 
cuse, rather  with  the  air  of  one  whose  vindica- 
tion was  self-evident. 

'And  because  I  have  pained  you,'  he  went 
on,  still  proudly,  almost  defiantly  confronting 
his  listener,  '  you  are  bound  to  hear  me  to  the 
end.  Much  has  happened  since  we  last  met. 
You  may  meantime  have  imagined  me  an  un- 
willing convert  to  the  new  order  of  things— 
from  my  own  point  of  view,  a  renegade.  It  is 
not  so.  But  never  for  an  instant  deem  that  I 
have  not  weighed  matters,  reflected  on  them, 
kept  anxious  vigils,  done  all  that  in  me  lay 
to  discern  the  biddings  of  conscience.  Can 
the  great  and  the  wise  aver  more — from  one 
point  of  view,  as  much  ? ' 

He  seemed  to  attain  even  added  stature, 
certainly  more  nobleness  of  face  and  figure, 
whilst  thus  pleading  for  himself.  But  Pernelle 


LOVE  345 

did  not  see,  had  no  need  to  see.      His  voice 
told  her  all. 

1  These  past  two  years  have  been  one  per- 
petual struggle.  Was  ever  a  man's  existence 
so  pitiful  as  mine,  his  soul,  his  conscience,  of 
such  small  account  ?  And  how  easy  to  invent 
sophistries !  Why  set  my  own  poor  judg- 
ment against  that  of  the  people  and  their 
leaders,  such  men  as  sit  at  Versailles,  such 
women  as  yourself!  Should  not  the  collective 
conviction  of  many  stand  before  the  opinions- 
prejudices  in  your  eyes — of  the  few?  Again 
and  again  I  have  said  Yes,  have  even  started 
on  the  way ' — 

He  moved  nearer,  caught  her  unresisting 
hands  to  his  lips,  and  sobbed  out— 

'  On  the  way  to  you.  No  other  goal 
beckoned,  no  other  path  invited.  I  only 
wanted  to  see  you  once  more,  to  tell  you  that 
I  was  yours,  heart,  soul,  the  last  drop  of  blood 
devoted  to  your  cause,  at  last,  made  my  own. 
This  joy  might  not  be.' 

Drawing  back,  tacitly  asking  pardon  for  his 
outburst,  he  added — 

'  Plead  if  you  will,  torture — or  shall  I 
say,  enrapture  ? — me  with  womanly  appeal. 


346  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Clasp  my  knees,  weep  over  my  hands  as 
just  now  I  wept  over  your  own,  entreat, 
persuade,  promise — I  must  not  —  I  dare  not 
yield." 

Pernelle  looked  at  him  for  a  moment, 
speechless  with  sorrow. 

'  I  am  less  than  nothing,'  she  got  out  at 
last.  '  Why  speak  of  ourselves  at  all  ? ' 

Steadying  her  voice  by  an  effort,  she  went 
on — 

'  The  sufferings  of  the  people,  do  not  these 
speak,  thousand-tongued  ?  But  of  what  good 
to  say  more  ?  Indeed  ' — here  a  tone  of  the  self- 
composed,  matter-of-fact  business  woman  well- 
nigh  deceived  him,  undoing  the  sweet  triumph 
of  her  momentary  agitation — '  indeed,  Monsieur 
le  Marquis,  I  am  asking  myself  why  you  are 
here. ' 

Genuine  passion  is  neither  to  be  blinded  nor 
resisted.  Now  for  the  first  time  Pernelle  came 
within  its  influence,  and  his  heart  beat  quickly 
at  the  thought.  This  girl's  life  had  been 
devoted  to  buying  and  selling,  perhaps  sordid, 
if  honest  cares,  her  own  individuality  merged 
in  family  interests.  At  last  a  voice  reached 
her — not  the  voice  of  patriotism,  not  the  voice 


LOVE  347 

of  duty,  one  wholly  strange,  undreamed  of, 
disconcerting. 

The  feint  over,  she  was  herself  again — the 
self  that  had  come  into  being  half  an  hour  ago, 
the  self  that  belonged  to  him. 

'  I  will  not  forget  you,  I  will  try  to  think 
kindly  of  you,'  she  said,  without  looking  up. 
'  Only  go — we  must  not  meet  any  more.' 

1  We  shall  not  meet  any  more,'  he  said, 
settling  himself  in  his  chair,  not  even  desperate 
circumstances  robbing  the  moment  of  delicious- 
ness.  They  were  alone.  She  was  tearful, 
heart-broken,  troubled,  and  all  on  his  account. 
He  sat,  drinking  in  the  sight  of  her,  as  men 
condemned  to  the  scaffold  drink  in  the  last 
breath  of  heaven. 

1  You  are  bound  to  the  frontier  or  to 
Vendee  ? '  she  cried,  with  a  look  of  abhorrence 
— '  to  swell  the  invading  hosts  or  that  crueller 
foe  nursed  on  French  soil  ?  You  will  shed 
the  blood  of  your  brethren,  overthrow  their 
hardly-won  liberties,  place  your  country  under 
the  heel  of  the  foreigner  ? ' 

'  It  rests  with  yourself/  he  said,  once  more 
a  lover's  triumph  in  his  eyes.  '  You  cannot 
make  me  turn  traitor  to  conscience,  but  you 


348  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

can  prevent  me  from  finally  redeeming  a  wasted 
life.  You  are  my  destiny  whether  you  will  or 
no.' 

He  waited,  thinking  she  would  guess  the 
rest. 

Pernelle  remained  irresponsive. 

'And  the  only  friend  I  have  in  the  world 
who  can  help  me  now,  help  me  to  the  poor 
satisfaction  I  speak  of — 

His  voice  faltered,  and  once  more  tears 
dimmed  his  eyes. 

'  Life  is  emptiness,  the  grave,  silence,  but 
the  name  a  man  leaves  behind  him  is  some- 
thing real,  something  the  meanest  must  take 
account  of.  I  shall  most  likely  die  by  a  sword- 
thrust,  or  be  shot  as  a  traitor  with  my  back  to 
the  wall.  You  may  never  learn  the  truth. 
Years  hence,  make  up  your  mind  that  it  has 
been  so,  and  rejoice  that  a  good  -  for  -  nothing 
life  ended  in  honourable  death.  The  cause, 
dear' —  He  held  her  hands  tight.  Both 
were  weeping. 

'Why  trouble  ourselves  about  the  cause? 
Suffice  it  that  I  deem  my  own  a  righteous 
one.  Thus  I  place  myself  on  your  level  too. 
You  will  not  refuse  ?  ' 


LOVE  349 

'  Ypu  have  come  to  me  for  a  passport  ? '  she 
asked,  through  her  tears. 

o 

It  was  well  known  that  Deputy  Nesmond's 
niece  had  helped  more  than  one  frightened,  in- 
significant client  out  of  the  country.  Thousands 
who  might  have  remained  in  perfect  safety  daily 
flocked  towards  the  border,  those  who  were  in 
duty  bound  to  remain,  whose  mere  presence 
guaranteed  the  safety  of  others,  leading  the 
van. 

Velours'  case  wholly  differed  from  any  hitherto 
brought  under  Pernelle's  notice. 

o 

Poltroonery,  self-interest,  clinging  to  worldly 
fortune,  had  actuated  former  petitioners.  This 
suppliant  asked  at  her  hands  privilege  of  other 
kind,  freedom  to  follow  conscience — in  other 
words,  a  sentence  of  death. 

He  bowed  assent  to  her  question.  She  rose 
hurriedly,  unable  to  bear  his  presence  any 
longer,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  unnerved, 
disarmed,  at  the  bidding  of  overmastering 
emotion. 

'  To-morrow — by  noon — it  shall  be  ready,' 
she  got  out,  motioning  him  to  go. 

'If  I  could  only  wait  till  to-morrow!'  he 
replied,  not  stirring  an  inch.  Then,  triumphant 


350  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

in  the  possession  of  a  few  blissful  moments 
more,  shrinking  drearily  from  the  thought  his 
own  words  called  up,  he  added— 

'  You  forget  that  the  Revolution  has  changed 
everything,  even  the  march  of  Time.  The 
present  moment  must  stand  for  to-morrow.' 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE    STRUGGLE 

WITH  uncertain  steps  and  trembling  fingers 
Pernelle  moved  towards  her  escritoire  and  fitted 
key  to  the  lock.  Then,  torn  by  cruellest  conflict, 
she  leaned  back,  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

'  Vendee,  Vendde ! '  she  murmured,  '  step- 
daughter who  would  throttle  our  mother 
France,  shall  I,  of  all  others,  put  a  sword 
in  thy  traitorous  hands,  or,  worse  still,  help  to 
swell  the  army  of  mercenaries  wooed  to  my 
country's,  our  country's,  downfall  ?  ' 

She  confronted  him  tenderly,  fearlessly,  em- 
boldened by  mutual  confidence,  by  the  tie, 
intangible  as  gossamer,  indissoluble  as  cast- 
iron,  that  bound  them  together.  Affianced 
lovers  could  hardly  feel  nearer  to  each  other, 
linked  in  closer  bonds,  than  these  two  ;  for  an 

351 


352  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

hour,  a  moment,  they  were  one,  henceforth  to 
be  strangers. 

'  Say  you  will  not  join  the  Vendeans  or  the 
hired  foes  at  Coblentz,' she  pleaded.  'Think 
of  what  this  civil  war  means,  what  this  host  of 
foreign  invaders  are  bent  upon.  Your  heart 
is  French  as  well  as  mine  ;  you  have  seen  the 
sufferings  of  the  people,  the  abasement  of  the 
kingdom.  And  if  Vendee  gets  the  upper  hand, 
if  Coblentz  becomes  the  seat  of  government, 
everything  will  be  a  thousand  times  worse  than 
before.  The  doom  of  France  is  irrevocably 
sealed.  Cross  the  Manche,  make  free  England 
your  home.  You  will  find  many  friends  there  ; 
forget  that  you  were  born  in  France.' 

'Could  I  forget  that  for  a  moment,  I  were 
all,  more  than  you  wish,'  he  said  calmly  and 
despondingly,  his  tone  and  manner  in  striking 
contrast  with  her  own..  Pernelle's  impetuosity 
and  forcibleness  had  their  source  in  hope  and 
in  the  assurance  of  a  future.  For  him  the  life 
that  was  life  indeed  had  already  ended. 

'  Of  what  use  to  try  and  make  things  clear? ' 
he  went  on.  '  There  are  beliefs,  principles,  that 
we  have  sucked  in  with  mothers'  milk,  that  have 
become  part  of  our  very  being.  Do  as  you 


THE  STRUGGLE  353 


will,  refuse  the  boon  I  ask,  only  leave  me  my 
conscience,  the  spark  of  loyalty  that  makes  me 
worthy  of  you.' 

He  quitted  his  chair  and  moved  to  the 
escritoire.  Bending  low,  he  continued  in 
undertones— 

'  Put  back  your  keys  ;  let  me  fare  as  best  I 
may.  I  had  no  right  to  ask  for  the  passport. 
Forget  the  request,  forget  everything  concern- 
ing me ;  only  in  your  turn  expect  not  oblivion. 
And  if  I  might  only  petition  for  a  token  !  some 
little  thing  that  you  have  used  or  worn,  to 
carry  away  as  priests  their  crucifix,  pilgrims 
their  holy  relic.' 

With  a  wistful  glance  his  eye  roved  from 
coveted  object  to  object,  the  little  nothings  at 
her  watch-chain,  the  tiny  mother-of-pearl  brooch 
fastening  her  kerchief,  the  silk  mittens  on  dainty 
wrists. 

Pernelle  hardly  heard.  Passionately  bent 
on  serving  him,  her  mind  was  occupied  with 
practical  issues.  His  wasted  past  rose  before 
her,  apologising,  pleading.  Could  she  send  him 
away,  withholding  the  only  boon  he  craved, 
means  of  making  final  peace  with  himself,  of 
sacrificing  life  to  what  he  regarded  as  duty  ? 
23 


354  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

On  a  sudden  light  flashed  upon  her.  She 
saw  a  way  out  of  the  dilemma. 

Once  more  she  fitted  key  to  the  lock,  and 
writh  quick,  business-like  movements  drew  forth 
the  precious  document,  last  of  the  free  safe- 
conducts  entrusted  to  her  by  Deputy  Nesmond. 

'  Again  and  again  and  again  you  will  be  able 
to  repay  this  service,'  she  began.  '  I  ought  to 
have  thought  of  it  before.  Vendee  is  merciless 
—no  foreign  foe  so  ruthless  to  the  vanquished ; 
Move  the  misguided  peasants  to  pity.  Recall 
the  priests  to  a  sense  of  Christian  duty.  We 
are  French  as  well  as  you.' 

The  pretty  head  was  bent  low,  away  flew 
pen  across  paper,  he  sitting  by,  mechanically 
answering  her  questions. 

'  I  think  this  is  correct,'  she  said,  when  her 
task  was  ended.  '  Please  look  over  my  entries.' 

Yes,  the  passport  was  in  order ;  so  far  the 
way  lay  clear.  She  now  thought  of  another 
difficulty.  How  could  she  put  the  simple 
question — Do  you  want  money?  Her  quick 
woman's  eye  discerned  a  tale  of  makeshift 
and  poverty  in  his  garments,  of  privation  in 
his  spareness.  She  noted,  too,  that  although 
winter  was  at  hand,  he  wore  no  cloak. 


THE  STRUGGLE  355 


'  Can  I  do  anything  else  for  you  ? '  she  asked, 
still  curt  and  matter-of-fact.  '  Any  kindness, 
remember  that,  you  can  pay  back  with  double 
and  treble  interest.' 

He  smiled  sadly.  Had  she  not  given  him 
two  inestimable  boons  already,  his  face  said ; 
the  life  of  feeling,  which  alone  is  life  indeed, 
and  a  chance  of  moral  redemption  ? 

She  took  a  little  embroidered  bag  of  gold 
pieces  from  the  escritoire  and  pressed  it  upon 
him,  folding  his  fingers  over  the  treasure  with 
her  own. 

'  Take  this  as  a  token  from  me ;  the  needle- 
work is  my  own.  It  will  serve  as  a  keepsake ; 
and  with  the  money,  minister  to  my  wounded 
patriots,  feed  the  widow  and  fatherless.  Yet 
the  offering  is  unconditional.' 

Her  voice  faltered.  Moving  towards  the 
door,  grasping  the  handle,  with  face  averted, 
she  tacitly  implored  him  to  go,  thanks  un- 
uttered,  farewells  unspoken. 

But  he  could  not  be  thus  dismissed.  They 
would  never  meet  again  ;  she  must  know  all. 

'  Why  should  I  not  take  your  money  ?  why 
should  I  waste  a  thought  on  your  generosities  ?  ' 
he  said.  '  Pardon  me  if  I  seem  to  jest ;  think 


356  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

of  my  desperate  case.  The  truth,  then,  is  this. 
Revolution  might  mean  to  me,  not  a  fatal 
skirmish  in  Vendee,  or  being  shot  with  my 
back  to  the  wall  in  Paris,  but  hope,  joy,  love ! 
I  have  only  to  go  over  to  your  side,  to  make 
common  cause  with  the  people,  and  I  might 
try  to  win,  instead  of  a  memory,  yourself.' 

She  started.  The  thought  had  never  once 
occurred  to  her  mind. 

'Think  for  a  moment.  I  have  already  re- 
ceived overtures  from  Paris.  My  education, 
poor  although  it  be,  renders  me  valuable  ;  and 
renegade  nobles  are  in  request.  It  is  in  my 
power  to  sink  my  former  personality  for  once 
and  for  all,  as  plain  Citizen  Velours  better  my 
fortunes,  fulfil  an  important,  or  at  least  respect- 
able post,  become,  in  worldly  matters  at  least, 
and  certainly  in  worldly  eyes,  a  fitting  suitor 
for  the  first  bourgeoise  of  Dijon.  My  life  is 
here,  yet  I  cannot  stay.' 

Had  the  Fleming  in  the  clouds  struck  an 
hour  since  that  passionate  utterance,  his  auto- 
matic spouse  sounded  the  half,  their  bantling 
the  quarter  only  ?  Or  had  the  minute  hand 
barely  gone  its  round  ?  To  Pernelle's  thinking 
time  must  have  made  a  leap.  She  who  had 


THE  STRUGGLE  357 


never  considered  the  passing  years  from  a 
feminine  point  of  view,  who  knew  no  dread 
of  whitening  hairs  or  furrowing  lines,  found 
herself  suddenly  aged  before  her  time;  real 
youth,  the  immortal  youthfulness  of  romance, 
burst  into  flower,  withered,  scattered  to  the 
winds,  in  an  hour ! 

'And  because  I  cannot  stay,  we  are  quits. 
You  are  free  to  offer  benefactions ;  I  may 
accept  your  generosities.  My  memory  need 
not  shame  you,  although  linked  with  that  of 
Vende'e.' 

'  Niece,  niece,  who  speaks  of  Vende'e? '  cried 
a  cheery  voice  in  the  doorway,  and  there,. Berthe 
clinging  to  one  arm,  Barbe  to  the  other,  stood 
Uncle  Parfait. 

Pernelle  sprang  forward  joyously,  holding  out 
both  hands,  for  the  moment  forgetting  every- 
thing in  the  delight  of  his  presence.  Not  at 
first  recognising  each  other,  the  two  men  merely 
bowed ;  then  the  armourer  threw  off  his  cloak, 
tossed  a  packet  to  each  twin,  with  which  they 
scampered  away  giggling,  finally  turned  to 
hostess  and  guest. 

'You  are  perhaps  settling  some  business  with 
yonder  gentleman  ;  I  intrude  ? '  he  asked,  glan- 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


cing  from  Pernelle  to  the  tall  figure  standing 
with  his  back  to  the  window,  in  the  October 
twilight  a  mere  silhouette.  '  Yet  what  business 
can  a  niece  of  mine  have  with  the  accursed 
name  of  Vendee  ? ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

AND    STRUGGLE 

THE  last  words  recalled  Pernelle  to  realities. 

With  lightning-like  rapidity  she  grasped  the 
problem  suddenly  placed  before  her,  and  bent 
her  whole  intellect  to  a  solution.  Only  one 
was  possible,  the  plain  truth.  No  matter  what 
the  truth  might  cost  her  uncle,  her  lover,  her- 
self, it  must  be  told  unflinchingly.  As  swiftly 
had  come  revelation  and  inner  debate  to  the 
other  two. 

In  her  hospitable  welcome  Pernelle's 
smouldering  fire  was  not  forgotten.  The 
added  log  blazed  up  making  every  object 
clear.  Velours  and  Nesmond,  amicable  buyer 
and  seller  of  former  days,  now  sworn  to 
deadliest  feud,  stood  face  to  face ;  between 
them,  gage  of  contest,  the  free  pass. 

Velours  might  easily  have  availed  himself 
of  the  other's  sudden  appearance  to  pocket  his 


359 


360  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

document  and  take  quiet  leave,  thereby  avoid- 
ing painfullest  scene.  On  Pernelle's  account  he 
was  already  blaming  himself  for  the  bolder 
course. 

But  there  was  Revolution  not  only  in  the  air ; 
in  men's  blood  too  it  germinated  spontaneously  ; 
long  before  the  greatest  revolutionary  had 
formulated  its  watchword  —  Daring  —  more 
daring — perpetual  daring ! — the  spirit  of  fear- 
less initiative  possessed  all  classes. 

Velours  now  revelled  in  the  thought  of 
vindicating  himself  before  this  bourgeois,  prov- 
ing that  a  poor,  broken-down  nobleman,  formerly 
occupied  in  poaching  with  second  -  hand  or 
antiquated  weapons,  was  his  match  for  courage 
and  patriotism. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  armourer's  first  feel- 
ing was  of  reluctance.  He  shrank  with  disgust 
from  the  situation  thus  forced  upon  him.  His 
hatred  of  the  noblesse,  now  leagued  against 
France  and  French  liberties,  was  deep-rooted 
and  intense.  But  he  felt  an  honest  man's 
respect  for  lifelong  ties  and  business  transac- 
tions. Many  and  many  a  time  he  had  himself 
repaired  Velours'  ancestral  flint-lock,  the  two 
chatting  after  friendliest  fashion  all  the  while. 


-  AND  STRUGGLE  301 

Many  a  time,  too,  the  marquis  had  accepted  a 
glass  of  good  wine  in  the  back  shop,  ay,  and 
an  occasional  feast  of  galettes  to  boot ! 

And  this  very  man,  this  of  all  others,  should 
ask  favours  of  his  niece,  should  trade  upon 
former  acquaintance  for  such  a  purpose  ?  There 
was  no  need  to  ask  his  errand.  The  passport 
lay  on  the  table.  He  had  caught  the  word 
'  Vended.' 

The  three  glanced  at  each  other :  Pernelle 
sorrow  -  stricken  but  resolute — her  word  being 
given,  duty  was  clear  ;  Velours  almost  arrogant 
in  his  new  position,  lover,  soldier,  patriot ;  the 
armourer  black-browed,  menacing,  his  implac- 
able mood  plain  without  a  word.  It  was 
characteristic  of  the  three  that  each  so  entirely 
relied  on  the  other's  loyalty.  What  easier  than 
for  Pernelle  or  Velours  to  take  up  the  passport, 
for  Nesmond  to  throw  it  in  the  fire  ?  Such  an 
alternative  never  occurred  to  either ;  all  awaited 
the  full  fury  of  the  storm. 

'  Not  accursed,  oh,  my  uncle  !  Vendee  is  still 
France,  French  hearts  beat  there  as  in  our  own 
Bourgogne.  Let  us  not  curse,  rather  try  to  win 
them  over.' 

'  Is  it  my  niece  whose  voice  I  hear,  whose 


362  A  KO MANGE  OF  DIJON 

handwriting  I  read  yonder,  one  of  my  own 
blood  and  name,  who  is  sharpening  another 
sword  against  our  country  ? '  cried  the  armourer, 
almost  beside  himself  with  dismay.  '  Girl, 
hitherto  my  second  self,  what  vile  potions 
have  you  drunk,  how  comes  it  that  your  reason 
is  thus  disturbed  ?  And  you,  sir,'  he  went 
on,  turning  to  the  marquis  ;  '  surely  it  would 
better  have  become  an  honest  gentleman  to 
knock  at  any  other  door  but  that  of  an  un- 
protected girl,  head  of  a  house,  staff  of  orphan 
sisters  '- 

The  taunt  did  not  ruffle  the  other's  calm. 
Velours  had  evidently  prepared  himself  for 
harder  hits,  more  piercing  reproaches. 

'Was  it  not  enough,'  continued  Nesmond, 
'  that  she  rescued  you  from  ruffianly  assailants 
two  years  ago,  conveyed  you  to  a  place  of 
safety,  sent  Sisters  of  Mercy  to  minister  to  you? 
Must  the  rendering  of  one  service,  that  wholly 
honourable,  entail  others,  shameful  in  them- 
selves, disastrous  in  their  consequences  ?  Re- 
linquish all  claim  to  that  document,  give  up 
your  so-called  patriotism,  and  go  back  to  your 
partridge  -  shooting.  I  will  answer  for  your 
personal  safety.' 


-  AND  STRUGGLE  363 


Velours  glanced  at  Pernelle.  Her  face  said 
nothing,  but  he  divined  her  thoughts. 

'  A  free  gift  should  ever  be  freely  surrendered. 
But  at  the  bidding  of  the  giver  only.  Listen,' 
added  the  marquis  proudly,  taking  up  the  safe- 
conduct  as  he  spoke.  '  Hear  me,  for  a  moment, 
monsieur — I  beg  your  pardon,  Citizen  Nesmond. 
I  have  also  a  word  to  say.  You  alluded  con- 
temptuously to  my  former  mode  of  existence 
just  now,  and  no  wonder.  Was  I  wholly  to 
blame  for  such  sordidness  and  degradation  ? 
Were  there  not  seigneurs  as  much  victimised 
by  the  old  state  of  things  as  any  peasants  could 
be  ?  How  was  I  to  better  my  condition,  rise 
in  the  social  and  moral  scale,  to  say  nothing 
of  the  material.  Could  a  marquis  earn  honest 
bread,  be  admitted  into  one  of  your  trade  guilds 
and  corporations  ?  As  surely  as  our  quarters 
of  nobility  kept  you  out  of  our  ranks  and 
dignities,  your  rules  and  statutes  prohibited 
us  from  attaining  your  own.  But  enough 
of  recrimination  on  either  side.'  His  tone 
changed  from  intense  bitterness  to  hauteur  and 
irony. 

'  My  antecedents  I  cannot  undo,  but  the 
future  at  least  is  mine.  And  your  Revolution 


364  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

has  rendered  even  a  broken  -  down  nobleman 
one  service.  It  has  aroused  his  patriotism.' 

'  Revolution,  patriotism,  forsooth ! '  put  in 
the  armourer,  his  voice  rasping  but  controlled. 
He  was  by  this  time  well  inured  to  heated  dis- 
cussion. Instead  of  losing  his  temper  to-day, 
he  but  showed  more  force  and  masterfulness. 
As  he  spoke  his  brow  was  a  veritable  thunder- 
cloud. 

'  You  are  right,  Monsieur  Velours,  we  have 
talked  enough.  No  more  blasphemy,  I  beg. 
Let  us  end  this  business.  Will  you  take 
advantage  of  a  girl's  generosity,  league  your- 
self with  traitors,  become  a  hireling  of  the 
foreigner,  help  to  enslave  France,  or  will  you 
not?  That  is  the  question,  and  the  sooner 
answered  the  better — the  better  for  all  three.' 

He  turned  to  Pernelle,  not  a  trace  of  the  old 
adoring  pride  and  fondness  in  his  face,  not  a 
sign  of  compromise  or  yielding  in  his  voice  ;  it 
was  no  longer  the  maiden  or  darling  appealed 
to,  but  one  by  force  of  judgment  and  will  his 
equal. 

'Remember,'  he  added,  'Vendee  means  one 
thing,  and  one  thing  only,  civil  war,  foreign  in- 
vasion, the  crushing  of  French  liberties.  And 


—  AND  STRUGGLE  365 

remember  also — did  you  ever  know  me  break 
my  word  ? — yonder  paper  means  one  thing  only 
to  you  and  to  me.' 

Pernelle  did  not  for  a  moment  lose  self- 
possession.  She  understood  but  "too  well  the 
cruel  force  of  her  uncle's  words.  He  asked  her 
to  choose  between  the  protector  of  her  youth, 
the  father,  mother,  friend  in  one,  till  lately  her 
all,  and  a  stranger,  in  a  day,  an  hour,  more  than 
usurping  his  place.  She  was  as  far  as  ever 
from  being  guided  by  sentiment.  In  her  utter 
loneliness  and  anguish  she  tried,  as  she  had 
striven  throughout  life,  to  follow  the  upright, 
truthful,  business  -  like  course.  To  this  high- 
minded  yet  mundane  girl,  conscience  had  been 
religion,  other  creeds  touching  her  feebly. 

'  Uncle,'  she  cried,  '  must  my  word  be  lightly- 
broken  either?  And  this  gentleman  may  do 
our  cause  more  good  than  harm,  he  may  plead 
on  the  side  of  consideration,  of  humanity.  He 
goes  against  us,  but  as  an  honourable  foe.' 

'Is  that  all  you  have  to  say?'  asked 
Nesmond,  taking  up  hat  and  cloak,  evidently 
about  to  leave. 

'  A  moment,  dear  uncle ! — you  are  tearing  my 
heart  to  pieces — a  moment  only  ! '  she  cried. 


366  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


The  armourer  paused,  but  not  at  her  bidding. 
With  a  quick  movement  Velours  now  sprang 
forward  and  tried  to  force  the  passport  into 
Pernelle's  hand. 

'  Too  dear  at  such  a  price  would  be  all  the 
fine  things  I  spoke  of  just  now,'  he  said,  his  old 
cynicism  come  back.  '  No,  my  good  Monsieur 
Nesmond — I  beg  pardon — no,  citizen,  leave  me 
my  partridge-shooting,  keep — keep ' — the  words 
'  your  niece '  were  on  his  lips  ;  suddenly  cynical 
composure  forsook  him,  his  voice  broke  down. 

Nesmond  glanced  at  Pernelle  sharply.  There 
was  no  need  for  more  than  a  glance,  hardly  that, 
indeed.  Would  she  have  been  his  brother's 
child,  of  his  name  and  race,  had  she  yielded  ? 

The  fonder  his  pride,  the  keener  his  grief. 
With  a  suppressed  sob,  never  once  looking 
back,  the  armourer  drew  his  hat  over  his  brows, 
gathered  his  things  together,  and  passed  out. 

Velours  followed  slowly.  He  did  not  trust 
himself  to  speak ;  would  words  have  meant 
anything  at  all  ?  He  did  not  venture  to  kiss 
her  hand  ;  silence,  reserve,  the  enforced  com- 
posure only  tears  must  have  broken,  made  all 
clear. 

Pernelle   understood    better   than    the   most 


AND  STRUGGLE  367 


passionate  outpourings  could  have  told,  how  he 
left  her  to  meet  solitude  ;  with  herself,  with  her 
uncle,  and  of  his  own  free  will,  condemned  to 
utter  loneliness,  loneliness  only  ending  in  the 
still  more  solemn  loneliness  beyond  the  tomb. 

But  she  was  not  wholly  unconsoled,  nor  were 
these  two,  of  that  she  felt  assured.  '  Oh, '  she 
murmured,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands, 
'  the  cost  of  Liberty !  The  bitter  price  paid 
for  an  ideal ! ' 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

'  AUX    ARMES,    AUX    ARMES,    CITOYENS  !  ' 

REVOLUTION  was  not  a  year  older,  yet  the 
Flemino-  above  Notre  Dame  seemed  to  have 

C!> 

given  out  centuries  rather  than  days,  weeks, 
months  since  that  stormy  scene  in  Pernelle's 
little  salon.  What  had  happened,  rather,  what 
had  not  happened,  in  France  meanwhile  ? 
Small  wonder  that  the  leading  revolutionists 
were  all  young  men  and  women — for  women 
also  helped  to  raise  the  structure  of  French 
liberties  —  carelessly  flinging  away  life  in 
their  prime.  White-haired  sages,  veterans 
wedded  to  routine  and  expediency,  would 
never  have  steered  the  ship  through  such 
perilous  seas. 

As  Minerva  from  the  head  of  Zeus  her 
sire,  arose  these  youthful  legislators,  warriors, 
moral  inventors,  fully  matured  and  equipped 
from  parent  soil.  Time  and  the  event  were 


'  A  UX  A  RMES,  A  UX  A  RMES,  CITO  YENS  ! '       309 

their  only  educators,  such  schooling  having  to 
be  acquired  in  a  day. 

To  secure  great  treasure  is  something  ;  the 
crowning  achievement,  the  superhuman  task,  is 
to  retain  it.  A  band  of  dauntless  reformers 
had  given  their  country  her  Magna  Charta, 
had  proclaimed  to  all  the  world  the  doctrine 
of  absolute  civil  and  religious  equality.  But 
to  drive  the  foreign  hordes  from  the  frontier, 
to  suppress  the  ever-swelling  host  of  fanatics 
at  home  ?  The  gifts  now  so  sorely  needed, 
generalship,  strategy,  the  power  of  organising, 
were  they  also  ready  to  hand  ?  Would  com- 
manders, victors,  spring  up  as  the  fabled  giants 
from  Jason's  sowing  ? 

Had  Pernelle  been  any  other  but  Pernelle, 
business  might  have  fared  badly  during  the 
last  few  months,  Berthe  and  Barbe  run  wild  as 
they  pleased,  all  kinds  of  irregularities  occurred. 
But  no  such  thing.  The  young  mistress  of  the 
Coiffe  a  Merveille  never  for  a  single  moment 
let  self  stand  before  that  thousandfold  self  called 
duty.  Her  manner  had  perhaps  become  a  trifle 
brusquer,  her  voice  had  taken  a  more  decisive 
tone,  she  showed  less  forbearance  towards  small 
shortcomings;  whilst  for  her  own  part  she 
24 


370  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

wrought  more  assiduously  alike  in  shop,  count- 
ing -  house,  or  kitchen.  Like  every  other 
housewife,  Pernelle  superintended  each  branch 
of  domestic  economy  in  person,  her  vigilance 
never  flagging.  In  one  respect  matters 
remained  the  same  at  the  well  -  known  sign. 
Its  young  mistress  still  reigned  supreme,  un- 
wed ded  and  alone. 

'  You  see  what  is  inevitable,  dear  Laurent,' 
she  had  said  soon  after  the  interview  with 
Velours  and  her  uncle.  '  Civil  war  and  foreign 

o 

invasion  are  imminent.  Every  man's  place 
will  then  be  in  the  ranks.  Better  keep  your 
freedom.' 

In  a  less  matter-of-fact  tone  she  added — 
'  And    there  is  another   reason  for  delay,    I 
cannot  marry  till  I  have  made  up  this  unhappy 
difference  with  my  uncle.      His  blessing  on  our 
union  I  must  have.' 

Winter  gives  timely  warning  to  the  good 
citizens  of  Dijon,  and  it  is  prudently  taken. 
Already  in  summer,  folks  begin  to  store  their 
fuel,  before  each  door  being  deposited  timber  to 
be  cut  up  on  the  spot,  or  neatly-cut  logs  brought 
from  St.  Jean  de  Losne  in  barges,  in  carts  and 
hand-trucks  from  neighbouring  forest.  Every 


« A  UX  ARMES,  A  UX  ARMES,  GITOYENS ! '       371 

street  becomes  animated  with  the  woodman  and 
his  business,  masters  and  matrons  surveying 
their  purchase,  idlers  gossiping  as  they  gaze, 
drivers  good-naturedly  squabbling  over  right  of 
way.  From  the  Porte  Guillaume  to  the  Place 
d'Armes  the  scene  was  one  of  noise,  bustle,  and 
confusion.  For  the  most  part  the  wood  was 
chopped  at  the  buyer's  door,  the  rhythmic  fall  of 
axe  and  chopper  echoing  far  and  wide.  No  one 
knew  better  than  Pernelle  the  truth  conveyed  in 
La  Fontaine's  fable.  The  eye  of  the  master  can 
never  be  spared.  Having  ordered  a  truck  of 
"wood,  she  must,  of  course,  supervise  chopping 
and  stowing  away.  Most  Frenchwomen  can  do 
several  things  at  once,  and  she  was  no  exception 
to  the  rule.  Keeping  one  eye  upon  her  wood- 
man, the  other  upon  her  stalls  opposite,  tripping 
gracefully  to  and  fro,  she  was  here,  there, 
everywhere  at  once. 

Now  some  worthy  bourgeoise  had  to  be 
suited  with  a  Sunday  cap,  Pernelle  turning 
her  head  this  side  and  that  as  she  tried  one 
after  another.  Now  Berthe  was  caught  bung- 
ling over  her  work,  or  Barbe  reading  a  newspaper. 
The  twins  out  of  sheer  perversity  had  become 
ardent  Royalists,  and  would  fain  have  slipped 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 


off  to  Vendee  and  served  in  the  rebel  army  as 
sutlers.  Truth  to  tell,  the  minxes  did  not 
relish  what  may  be  called  the  sumptuary  aspect 
of  Revolution.  What  were  the  rights  of 
citizens,  representative  government,  just  laws,  to 
them  ?  But  to  go  short  of  gingerbread  and 
berberries,  to  have  no  new  frocks  or  bonnets 
from  January  to  December,  were  grievances' 
that  touched  them  nearly.  Evil  times  must  be 
met,  the  shivering  and  hungry  ministered  to, 
patriotic  needs  aided,  and  only  by  means  of 
the  most  uncompromising  economy.  Pernelle's 
rule  was  here  Draconian.  If  Berthe  pouted  at" 
the  coarse  rye  bread,  smelt  it,  eyed  it,  pretend- 
ing she  could  not  eat,  her  elder's  answer  was  a 
curt — '  Then  go  hungry.' 

If  Barbe  declared  that  her  Sunday  gown 
disgraced  the  very  church,  she  only  got  by  way 
of  consolation— 

'  Then  go  naked.' 

The  two  talked  of  Vendee,  dreamed  of 
Vendee  morning,  noon,  and  night.  There  were 
moments  when  they  seriously  contemplated 
running  away,  and  whenever  Pernelle's  back 
was  turned,  would  talk  of  their  plans,  as  they 
called  them. 


'  A  UX  ARMES,  A  UX  ARMES,  CITOYENS ! '       373 

'  Think  of  a  cantiniere's  bewitching  dress ! 
how  well  the  gold-braided  coat,  short  skirt,  and 
high  boots  would  become  me ! '  cried  Berthe 
to-day  ;  '  and  to  watch  the  balls  flying  on  the 
scene  of  battle,  and  catch  a  handsome  young 
officer  mortally  wounded  in  my  arms.  No, 
not  mortally ' — 

'  Why  not  ? '  coolly  asked  Barbe — she  seemed 
to  have  no  more  moral  sense  than  a  butcher- 
bird. '  You  would  then  get  his  watch  and 
diamond  ring.' 

'  I  should  prefer  a  kiss,'  was  the  reply ; 
'and  were  he  count  or  marquis,  an  offer  of 
marriage.' 

'  Hark  !  do  you  hear  drums  beating  ?  '  cried 
Barbe. 

The  pair  dropped  their  needlework  and 
listened  attentively.  True  enough,  drum  and 
tambour  sounded,  although  as  yet  far  off.  But 
Berthe  and  Barbe  would  have  detected  the 
noise  amid  the  fracas  of  an  earthquake,  the 
hurly-burly  of  a  tornado.  To  these  two  it  was 
irresistible  as  bugle-horn  to  hunter,  tally-ho  to 
hound. 

'It  is  a  recruiting  party — sister  said  the 
recruiting  was  to  begin,'  said  Barbe. 


374  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Heedless  of  the  consequences,  unmindful, 
perhaps  vain,  of  displaying  neatly  stockinged, 
gaily  gartered  legs,  away  they  flew,  leaping 
timber,  piled-up  logs,  and  even  chopping-block, 
overturning  portable  ovens  of  griddle-cake  seller, 
now  running  against  one  sedate  citizen,  now 
another.  Nothing  could  arrest  their  mad 
course  at  sound  of  the  Rataplan. 

Pernelle  glanced  after  them  for  a  moment 
with  knit  brows,  then  her  face  softened, 
glowed.  She  overlooked  the  offence  in  the 
occasion. 

'  The  recruiting  begins  to-day,  neighbour  ? ' 
she  asked  of  a  portly  fellow  bourgeoise,  with 
herself  supervising  the  unloading  and  storage 
of  wood,  but,  unlike  Pernelle,  no  enthusiast  in 
the  cause  of  Revolution.  The  good  woman 
could  not  conceive  what  soldiers  had  to  do  with 
the  business.  To  her  thinking,  although  demo- 
cratic in  principle,  a  monarchy  was  essential  to 
French  prosperity,  but  a  monarchy  well  kept 
within  bounds,  rots  faineants  trotted  out  once 
a  year  by  way  of  upholding  tradition,  govern- 
ment transacted  by  notaries  seated  at  a  table 
covered  with  green  baize. 

'  Recruiting  to-day   means    widows    and    or- 


'  A  UX  AltMES,  A  UX  A  RMKti,  CITO  YENS ! '       375 

phans  to-morrow,  and  wood  so  dear  that  we 
shall  have  to  chop  up  our  linen  presses 
and  bedsteads,  or  go  without  dinner.  No, 
Mademoiselle  Pernelle,  none  of  your  Mar- 
seillaises for  me ! ' 

Pernelle's  face  saddened,  a  few  minutes 
later  to  become  radiant.  No  more  than 
her  neighbour  could  she  forget  the  '  awful 
aspect  of  this  appeal.  Her  heart  bled  for  the 
young  wives  bereft  of  their  bread-winners, 
the  mothers  taking  last  look  of  beardless 
darlings.  So  strongly  did  she  feel  the  day's 
solemnity,  that  she  determined  not  to  visit 
the  Place  d'Armes.  Better  to  calm  herself 
over  daily  work,  leaving  others  to  acclaim  the 
volunteers ! 

But  the  Marseillaise  and  the  popular  en- 
thusiasm proved  irresistible,  she  was  borne 
away  on  the  current  against  her  will.  Al- 
though only  a  few  months  old,  the  one  great 
song  of  the  world  was  now  familiar  to  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  in  France.  No  sooner  did 
its  moving  strains  reach  Pernelle's  ear,  than  she 
went  indoors,  unpinned  her  apron,  and  tripped 
to  the  end  of  the  street ;  her  buxom  neighbour 
did  the  same,  their  woodmen  followed,  all  Dijon 


376  A  ROMANCE  OF  DUOS 

was  magnetised  towards  the  recruiting  booth 
as  moths  to  a  candle. 

'  I  must  have  a  peep !  just  a  peep ! '  cried 
every  one. 

The  butcher  forgot  to  throw  down  his  knife, 
the  barber  left  his  client  half-shaven,  the  shoe- 
maker rushed  out  last  in  hand,  the  baker 
emerged  all  floury  from  his  oven,  the  apothe- 
cary was  far  too  excited  to  leave  pestle  behind. 
Never  surely  had  folks  so  forgotten  decorum 
and  prudence !  What  if  ill-disposed  loafers 
lurked  about,  pilferers,  shop-lifters,  professional 
thieves  ? 

None  paused  to  think.  The  Marseillaise 
was  as  'that  song  the  sirens  sang,'  only  wax- 
stopped  ears  could  resist.  Once  more  people 
were  drunk,  but  not  with  wine.  As  drum  beat, 
tambour  sounded,  and  from  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  voices  rose  the  strain— 

•  Aux  armes,  aux  armes,  citoyens, 
Formez  vos  bataillons  ! ' 

the  new  force  of  France,  the  patriotic  army  that 
was  to  re-create  the  mother  country,  the  land  of 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  came  into  being,  was  formed  as 
by  magic.  At  the  self-same  hour  and  in  the 


'AUX  ARMES,  AUX  ABMES,  C1TOYENS."       377 

same  magic  fashion,  from  mountain  and  plain, 
sea-coast  and  valley,  from  counting-house  and 
manor,  workshop  and  hovel,  sprang  untried  but 
dauntless  defenders  of  French  liberty,  founders 
of  the  Republic ! 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE    TOCSIN 

BUT  two  voices  were  now  making  themselves 
heard  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of 
France,  with  the  clarion  note  of  hope  alternat- 
ing the  knell  of  despair.  Which  would  die 
away  and  be  forgotten  ?  by  which  would  the 
great  gods  speak — the  Marseillaise  heralding 
victory,  the  Tocsin  presageful  of  doom  ? 

Now  the  one  seemed  uppermost,  and  now 
the  other :  for  awhile  spirits  were  cheered, 
uplifted ;  for  awhile  men  deemed  that  the 
end  of  the  world,  of  their  France,  was  near. 
'  The  mother  country  in  danger  ! '  Such  was 
the  signal  thundered  from  a  thousand  brazen 
mouths ;  by  way  of  answer  came  the  noblest 
martial  air  that  ever  cheered  on  to  glory. 
It  was  natural  and  fitting  that  the  first  should 
dominate.  Warning  less  awful,  appeal  less 
stringent,  would  have  proved  vain.  A  voice 

378 


THK  TOCSIN  379 


must  resound  from  one  end  of  France  to  the 
other,  bringing  the  stoutest-hearted  to  their 
knees,  as  children  before  an  awful  storm. 

The  Tocsin,  thousand  -  tongued,  drenching 
the  country  with  terrifying  sound,  seemed  no 
simultaneous  clanging  of  myriad  watch-bells, 
instead,  a  letting  loose  of  retributive  spirits, 
ministers  of  divine  visitation. 

So,  indeed,  the  simpler  peasant  folk  regarded 
the  matter,  only  by  slow  degrees  brought  to 
understand  its  meaning. 

Their  country  was  in  danger,  her  very  exist- 
ence as  a  nation  threatened.  By  one  means 
alone  could  France  be  saved — the  voluntary 
sacrifice  of  her  children. 

The  Tocsin  warned  of  deadly  peril,  the 
Marseillaise  announced  delivery. 

Where  did  those  dread  carillons  begin  ? 
Whence  were  first  echoed  back  those  dreadful 
chimes  ?  Folks  woke  up  to  hear  on  a  sudden. 
It  was  as  if  some  magic  touch  had  set  all  the 
alarums  in  France  going  at  once.  None  could 
think  of  sweating  bell-ringers  in  high,  cobwebby 
towers,  of  steaming  brows  and  swollen  muscles, 
of  many  a  copious  wine-draught  between  pull 
and  pull,  and  oath,  to  boot — the  toil  was 


380  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

tremendous,  but  well  paid,  and  should  not  be 
wasted  !  To-morrow  and  to-morrow  the  ropes 
should  be  tugged,  ay,  and,  by  the  Blessed 
Virgin,  harder  than  ever !  The  Tocsin  was 
not  only  rung  for  France  to  hear,  but  for  the 
ears  of  her  enemies,  of  all  Europe  ! 

From  Marseilles  the  awful  peal  rang  forth, 
reaching  the  rocky  shore  and  umber  islets  set 
in  sleepy  blue  sea.  The  red-capped,  maho- 
gany-complexioned  fisherman  heard  far  away, 
and  on  a  sudden  his  lateen  sail  moved,  the 
little  craft,  hitherto  motionless  as  burning 
heaven  above,  made  with  all  speed  for  the 
harbour. 

High  above  the  terraced  city,  vine-dressers, 
thinly  clad  as  Orientals,  toiled  between  glisten- 
ing white  walls  and  golden  leafage.  One  and 
all,  they  too  threw  down  pruning-knife  and  hoe, 
hastening  to  learn  the  news,  mixing  in  the 
tumultuous  crowds  below,  returning  to  the 
vineyard  no  more,  within  an  hour  enrolled  as 
volunteers.  From  city  to  city,  townling  to 
townling,  hamlet  to  hamlet,  the  torrential 
stream  of  sound  was  maintained  without  a 
break ;  as  those  beacon  fires  blazing  from 
Troy  to  Argus  kept  up  a  chain  of  blazing 


THE  TOCSIN  .381 


lights,   so  each   peal   was  now   caught  ere  its 
fellow  died  away. 

Through  the  olive  groves  and  peach  orchards 
of  hot  Provence,  silvery-green  wavelets,  fruitage 
dazzling  as  those  of  Aladdin's  garden — by  the 
crocus  -  coloured  walls  and  sapphire  sky  of 
Aigues-Mortes,  the  Tocsin  passed,  not  for  a 
moment  interrupted  by  the  broad  blue  Garonne 
nor  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the  Pyrenees. 
Above  tinkling  cattle  bell  and  musical  little 
river,  above  war  of  cascade  and  wind  surging 
among  the  giant  pines,  the  sound  rolled  on  ;  it 
leaped  from  spire  to  spire  perched  above  hang- 
ing pastures  under  snow-capped  peaks,  pene- 
trated cool  valleys  beneath  the  awful  shadow  of 
Gavarnie,  echoed  along  the  pale  brown  measure- 
less wastes  of  Gascoigne. 

The  stilted  shepherd  made  what  haste  he 
could  to  the  nearest  village,  finding  there  the 
same  ferment  that  reigned  in  capitals,  hence- 
forward shepherd  no  longer ;  on  a  sudden 
become  patriot,  soldier ! 

From  the  grand  belfry  tower  of  Bordeaux, 
the  watch-bell  rang  forth  a  deafening  peal  ;  by 
mile  upon  mile  of  wharfage  it  ran,  by  noble 
harbour  bristling  with  a  thousand  masts,  to  the 


.-1  EOMANGS  OF  ni.JON 


hither  side  of  the  wine  -  red  Gironde,  each 
sloping  bank  echoing  the  sound.  Lormont, 
so  gracefully  placed,  holiday  resort  of  rich 
Bordelais,  sent  on  the  signal  ;  its  neighbours 
higher  up  were  not  slow  to  follow.  Swift,  clear, 
sonorous,  the  alarum  reached  La  Rochelle, 
fair  as  Cervantes'  Dorothea  seated  by  the 
brook,  heroic  as  the  warrior  maid  of  Lorraine 
—  thence  it  was  borne  along  the  salt  marshes 
and  thickets  of  Vendee  —  there  more  than  any- 
where needed  the  warning,  '  The  Patrie  in 
danger.'  Along  the  broad  mouth  of  the  Loire 
resounded  the  summons,  by  riverside  village 
and  village,  in  high  tides  of  the  '  Torrent 
revolutionaire,'  islanded  from  the  mainland  ; 
it  passed,  reinforced,  given  out  with  double, 
treble  vehemence  by  Nantes  —  Nantes  crowned 
with  the  glory  of  her  Edict,  but  least  beauti- 
ful, perhaps,  of  French  capitals,  despite 
superb  situation  and  noble  quays  bordered 
with  mansions  of  slaveowners,  till  yesterday 
traffickers  in  human  flesh. 

Through  sombre,  silent  Brittany,  and  luxuri- 
ant, dance-loving  Touraine,  the  Tocsin  rang  ; 
it  pealed  forth  from  the  glorious  Creizker 
Tower  of  St.  Pol  de  Leon,  sweet  little  city,  but 


THE  TOCSIN  38.3 


sad,  clothed  in  mourning-  livery  of  black  and 
grey,  reaching  the  island  folk  far  off,  summon- 
ing the  men  from  their  nets,  the  awestruck 
women  to  wayside  Calvaries. 

By  road  and  river  rang  out  the  carillon,  each 
modest  belfry  lending  a  voice,  not  a  hamlet 
dumb.  The  fairy-like  towns,  with  revolting 
memories,  bordering  Loir  and  Cher — Amboise, 
the  beauteous,  the  bloodstained  ;  Blois,  with  its 
palace  worthy  of  the  Ccxsars,  like  theirs  also 
commemorative  of  lust  and  crime.  By  the  vast 
cornlands  of  Beauce  crept  the  sound.  From  the 
mountain-like  mass  of  its  cathedral,  Bourges 
thundered  forth — it  was  as  if  each  glorious 
.portico  discharged  notes  of  dread  and  warning. 
Across  the  heath-covered  wastes  and  close- 
shut  valleys  of  Marche  pealed  the  solemn  bell, 
following  the  sky-blue  Indre  as  it  meandered, 
full  to  the  brim,  through  low  -  lying  meads. 
The  cloth-weavers  of  Chateauroux  heard,  and, 
quitting  loom  and  fulling  mil^  flocked  to  the 
recruiting  booth.  By  limestone  cliffs  and 
wooded  hills,  many  a  chateau  rising  above  the 
green,  by  the  chestnut  woods  environing  the 
gloomy  tower  of  Limoges,  the  Tocsin  sped. 

Rousing    Auvergne,    as    if    her    volcanoes 


384  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

suddenly  opened,  vomiting  flame  and  fire,  the 
sound  reached  the  cutlers  of  Thiers  in  their 
sunless  dwellings  by  the  Durolle,  euphemistic 
name  of  Stygian  stream.  Men  livid  with  toil 
in  perpetual  twilight,  begrimed  with  iron  dust, 
not  waiting  to  cast  off  leather  apron  and  pull 
down  shirt-sleeves,  quitted  their  workshops,  the 
younger  and  more  ardent  to  return  no  more. 
There  also  a  new  voice  made  itself  heard,  the 
voice  of  mother  country. 

By  swift,  impetuous  leaps,  the  sound  rushed 
on  towards  Forez.  As  the  mountain  torrent 
here  spanning  chasm  and  gully,  forcing  tumultu- 
ous passage  through  lofty  precipices,  tossing 
aside  pine-stem  and  boulder,  so  the  Tocsin 
overcame  every  obstacle.  Now  it  seemed  to 
die  away  amid  wide,  unpeopled  solitudes,  then, 
on  a  sudden,  clear,  shrill,  sonorous,  from  some 
valley  hidden  in  mountain  fastnesses,  the  watch- 
bell  rang  out  afresh,  startling  the  herds  as  they 
grazed,  summoning  their  owners  from  the  field. 
Zigzagging  like  lightning,  meteor-like  in  its 
swiftness,  intermittent,  yet  never  lost,  east,  west, 
north,  south,  the  cry  of  France  went  forth. 
From  majestic  Rhone,  the  river  that  brought 
Greece  and  Rome  to  Gaul,  from  the  pearl- 


THE  TOCSIN  385 


strewn  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  whence  rises 
Cordouan,  the  oldest  lighthouse  in  Europe, 
from  the  storm-beaten  cliffs  facing  England  to 
the  mule-tracks  leading  into  Spain,  from  the 
barren  promontories  of  Lozere  to  the  rich 
vineyards  of  Champagne,  the  voice  went  forth, 
a  voice  new,  yet  clear,  unmistakable,  kindling 
every  mind,  thrilling  every  heart.  She  had 
spoken,  France,  the  great  mother,  for  her  sons 
to  hearken  and  obey ! 

All  the  village  folks,  Huguette's  former 
neighbours,  must  of  course  go  out  to  see  the 
volunteers  pass  through.  The  march  would 
take  them  by  the  prophetess's  vineyard,  that 
tiny  possession,  last  to  be  put  up  for  sale  under 
the  law  of  the  Dead  Hand.  Mortmain  and 
other  feudal  rights  having  now  been  abolished 
for  ever,  such  lands  became  the  property  of 
the  commune.  Once  again  in  the  market,  and 
this  time  legitimately,  Felix  and  Douce  had 
purchased  it  for  Edmond  and  his  bride.  If 
only  Huguette  could  have  known  that  her 
fosterling,  her  darling,  was  here  mistress  after 
all !  It  was  by  such  lessons  as  these  that  the 
peasant  realised  the  Revolution. 
25 


386  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

Excitement  and  the  crowd  soon  separated 
the  four.  As  the  Marseillaise,  clouds  of  dust, 
and  loud  huzzas  announced  a  detachment, 
Finette  found  herself  alone,  alone  except  for  the 
white-capped,  swaddled  nursling  in  her  arms. 

Bareheaded  despite  the  burning  sun,  with 
her  neighbours,  she  leaned  forward  eagerly 
whilst  the  recruits  marched  by,  not  as  yet  in 
military  order,  here  and  there  men  falling  back 
to  bid  kinsfolk  or  friends  farewell. 

The  mother  of  a  year  was  hardly  less  fair 
than  the  maiden.  The  look  of  patient  sweet- 
ness still  beamed  from  her  blue  eyes,  the  soft 
cheek  showed  dimples  as  before,  but  toils 
afield  and  matronly  cares  had  already  added 
years. 

'  Finette ! '  some  one  cried. 

'  Laurent,  Monsieur  Laurent ! '  was  the 
astonished  reply. 

Finette  and  her  old  lover  had  never  met 
since  the  solemn  service  under  the  Elms  of 
Sully,  although  hearing  news  of  each  other 
from  time  to  time.  Laurent  knew  of  her 
marriage  with  a  peasant ;  Finette  had  learned 
that  her  sacrifice  was  not  in  vain,  and  that  he 
would  marry  his  rich  bourgeoise. 


THE  TOCSIN  387 


The  volunteers,  unlike  the  former  tatterde- 
malion soldiers  of  France,  now  wore  uniform. 
Long  blue  riding-coat,  top-boots,  three-cornered 
hat,  and  tricolour  sash  added  height  and  dignity 
to  the  former  apprentice,  as  handsome  and 
manly  a  fellow  as  any  there. 

'  May  you  come  safely  home]'  Finette  got 
out  amid  rising  tears. 

The  young  man  smiled  coldly.  Home  to 
what  ?  his  face  said. 

'  Are  you  happy,  Finette  ?'  he  asked 

'  My  husband  is  good  to  me,'  she  replied,  look- 
ing down,  'and  I  have  this,'  touching  her  child 
as  she  spoke.  She  glanced  round,  and,  seeing 
no  one  near,  added  in  low,  agitated  whispers— 

'  Listen,  Laurent.  By  my  innocent  babe,  I 
speak  the  truth.  I  went  away  without  a 
word — I  hid  myself  for  your  sake.  1  wanted 
you  to  become  a  bourgeois,  to  marry  Made- 
moiselle Pernelle.' 

Did  he  believe  her?  She  hardly  knew.  He 
gazed  a  moment,  then  his  eyes  filled  with  tears, 
and,  stooping  down,  he  kissed  both  mother  and 
child.  He  was  yearning  for  sympathy  and 
tenderness,  and  the  little  thing's  confession 
somehow  made  him  feel  less  lonely. 


388  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

'  There  is  another  thing  I  wanted  you  to 
know/  she  added,  as  he  turned  to  go.  '  I  have 
never  changed  my  religion,  Laurent,  the  re- 
ligion you  taught  me.  And  no  one  interferes 
with  us  Huguenots  now ;  you  and  I  may  pray 
to  God  in  the  same  way/ 

'  Yesr  yes,'  he  replied,. 

'  I  hope  you  will  come  back,'  she  murmured. 

'  I  hope  I  shall  do  my  duty/  was  the 
answer. 

Then;  drums  beat,  the  Marseillaise  filled  the 
air,  hats  and  handkerchiefs  were  waved,  flowers 
thrown  to  the  victors  of  to-morrow.  Amid  in- 
describable tumult  and  emotion,  the  detachment 
passed  on.. 

In-  her  little  salon  Pernelle  sat  alone,  almost 
for  the  first  time  throughout  her  entire  existence 
doing  nothing.  Business  was  brisker.  The 
universal  enrolment  had  set  mercers  as  well 
as  tailors  to  work.  At  the  sign  of  the  '  CoifTe 
a  Merveille'  were  supplied  a  dozen  knick- 
knacks  wanted  for  the  soldier's  kit,  necker- 
chiefs, laced  shirt  fronts  for  officers,  sashes  and 
cockades. 

This   brief  interval   of  idleness    was    stolen 


THE  TOCSIN  389 


from  over  busy  hours.  Why  was  Pernelle 
thus  lazy,  she  who  usually  did  several  things 
at  once  ?  She  sat  with  a  piece  of  paper  in  her 
hand,  apparently  leaf  torn  from  some  school- 
boy's exercise -book,  reading,  re-reading,  and 
reading  again.  Tfoose  trite  sentences,  English 
tyro's  attempt  at  French  composition,  were 
carefully  put  right  in  unmistakable  French 
characters,  and  bdow  the  master  had  written 
his  name.  Wherein  lay  the  fascination  of  this 
torn  leaf  for  Pernelle's  eyes  ?  What  made  the 
perusal  so  absorbing,  so  magnetic  ?  For  an 
hour  and  more — the  first  idle  hour  of  her  life-- 
she  had  been  thus  lost  in  reverie. 

Whilst  musing  thus,  she  heard  her  uncle's 
voice  just  outside.  The  National  Assembly 
dissolved,  Nesmond's  patriotic  mission  over, 
with  the  rest  of  his  colleagues,  he  had  returned 
to  home  and  calling.  He  did  not  of  set 
purpose  avoid  his  niece-  her  formal  engage- 
ment to  Laurent  evidently  gave  him  intense 
satisfaction  ;  but  he  remained  icy  cold.  From 
the  date  of  that  interview  with  Velours,  al- 
though outwardly  on  friendly  terms,  uncle  and 
niece  were  strangers  to  each  other. 

Once  or  twice  Pernelle  had  tried  to  break 


390  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

through  his  reserve,  win  friendly  hearing.     He 
refused  even  to  notice  her  overtures. 

To-day  his  voice  roused  her  as  from  a 
dream.  She  jumped  up  and  opened  the 
door. 

*  Berthe,'  she  cried,  '  I  must  see  your  uncle. 
Bring  him  to  me/ 

The  armourer,  thrown  off  his  guard,  expect- 
ing some  mere  business  discussion,  entered 
with  less  frigid  greeting  than  usual,  even 
smiled  as  he  sat  down.  But  how  unlike  the 
smile  of  former  years !  Formerly  he  had 
glowed  at  the  mere  sight  of  his  favourite,  now 
she  seemed  in  his  eyes  as  any  other. 

Berthe  dismissed,  the  door  closed,  Pernelle 
rose  from  her  seatr  clinging  to  him  as  a 
suppliant. 

'Uncle!'  she  cried  passionately,  'will  you 
not  relent  ?  Think  how  lonely  I  am  ! ' 

'  What  woman's  weakness  is  this,  my  niece  ? 
Your  betrothed  but  takes  his  chance  with  the 
rest.  The  odds  are  that  he  may  return 
General  of  Division/ 

She  quitted  his  side  and  sat  down,  still 
holding  her  torn  leaf.  One  thing  was  clear- 
ever  master  of  himself,  sovereign  of  his  will, 


THE  TOCSIN  391 


he  had  set  his  face  against  reconciliation.  He 
would  stand  by  her  and  her  sisters,  in  so  far 
as  worldly  circumstances  were  concerned.  They 
should  never  seek  his  advice,  his  protection,  in 
vain.  But  toward  Pernelle,  once  dear  as  his 
own  child,  he  was  relentless. 

Purposely  avoiding  any  allusion  to  Laurent, 
— the  very  mention  of  his  name  in  her  present 
mood  seemed  an  insult  to  himself, — she  got 
out — 

1  Uncle,  there  is  no  longer  anything  to  keep 
us  apart.  You  have  not  perhaps  heard  ?  He 
is  in  England — Louis  de  Velours.  What  harm 
can  he  do  us  there  ? ' 

'And  what  good?'  was  the  scathing  re- 
joinder. '  Has  our  country  no  enemies  on 
foreign  soil  ? ' 

'In  him,  no.  Read  this!'  she  cried;  then, 
checking  herself  with  sudden  impulse,  drew 
back,  holding  her  sheet  of  exercise-paper  still 
tighter  to  her  heart.  It  was  evidently  sacred 
in  her  eyes.  Keeping  back  indignant  tears, 
she  added,  'It  was  out  of  consideration  for 
you,  for  me,  that  he  threw  aside  his  sword, 
put  on  civilian's  garb,  and  crossed  the  sea. 
This  scrap  of  paper  tells  everything.  The 


392  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

marquis  is  earning  his  bread  as  a  teacher  of 
French.' 

'  And  what  is  that  to  us  ?'  said  the  armourer, 
rising.  Anything  like  sentiment  or  weakness 
repelled  him.  He  wanted  the  interview  over, 
but  before  it  was  over  she  must  clearly  under- 
stand one  thing.  '  Is  this  a  time  to  think  of 
ourselves  at  all?  Instead,  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  of  France  must  brace  themselves 
to  their  daily  tasks,  the  fulfilment  of  duty. 
Only  thus  can  our  poor  country  be  saved. 
Saved  it  will,  it  shall  be.  I  may  not  live  to  see 
the  glorious  day,  the  realisation  of  our  hopes, 
nor,  perhaps,  may  you  either.  The  great 
day  of  freedom,  brotherhood,  prosperity,  is 
sure  to  come.  For  each  of  us  to  hasten  its 
advent.' 

He  stooped  down,  dropped  a  formal  kiss  on 
her  forehead,  and  went  away.  Duty,  duty ! 
Pernelle  repeated  the  words  without  as  yet 
finding  an  echo  in  her  heart. 

She  dared  not  weep.  At  any  moment  some 
intruder  might  surprise  her.  The  luxury  of  a 
few  idle  minutes  more  she  could  not  deny 
herself. 

And  once  again    that   sheet   of  schoolboy's 


THE  TOCSIN  3<>3 


copy-book,  received  a  few  hours  before,  was 
unfolded,  devoured,  covered  with  kisses.  The 
sentences,  evidently  given  as  exercises,  and 
carefully  corrected,  ran  as  follows  : — 

'  To  live  ignobly,  or  what  is  called  ignobly, 
may  often  be  more  heroic  than  to  die  magnan- 
imously. 

'  Self-sacrifice,  which  includes  the  sacrifice 
of  others,  is  but  another  name  for  egotism. 

1  Our  great,  our  divine  benefactors  are  those 
we  love,  whether  or  no  they  love  us  in 
return. 

'  Life  is  but  another  name  for  Hope.  The 
\vord  Adieu  is  meaningless  on  this  side  of  the 
tomb. 

'  Corrected  by  Louis  de  Velours,  French 
master  at  the  school  of  Charterhouse,  London, 
August,  179 — .' 

No  word  accompanied  the  leaf,  which  had 
reached  Pernelle  in  a  roundabout  way.  Evi- 
dently fearing  to  compromise  her,  Velours' 
missive  came  as  envelope  from  a  Cheapside 
mercer,  the  excuse  being  inquiry  about  certain 
Dijonnais  specialities.  Pernelle  locked  away 
the  love-token  and  moved  to  the  window. 

From  the  narrow  side  street  she  saw  the  noble 


394  A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

facade  of  Notre  Dame,  and,  high  above,  the 
Fleming  keeper  of  time.  As  he  raised  his  arm 
to  signal  noon,  the  sun  emerged  from  a  heavy- 
cloud,  the  brilliant,  bustling  street  was  irradiated. 
All  the  townsfolk  seemed  abroad,  young  and  old 
having  flocked  to  greet  the  volunteers.  One 
topic,  and  one  only,  was  on  every  tongue — the 
threatened  invasion  of  France  and  the  newly- 
recruited  armies  moving  towards  the  frontier. 
Yes,  mused  Pernelle,  her  uncle  was  right.  No 
time  now  to  dwell  on  self  and  selfish  regret— 
or  hopes  !  Duty  must  prove  alike  spur  and 
staff,  stimulant  and  healing ;  duty  alone  could 
save  herself  and  every  other  sorrow-stricken 
creature,  save  France  in  her  hour  of  peril. 

Then  she  thought  of  her  lover's  words,  '  Life 
is  but  another  name  for  Hope,  The  word 
Adieu  is  meaningless  on  this  side  of  the  tomb.' 

A  commotion  outside  roused  her.  Streaming 
towards  the  Place  d'Armes,  again  passed  a 
procession,  drums  beating,  flags  flying,  trumpets 
clanging,  but  all  on  a  different  scale.  Only 
one  queer  martial  figure  was  here  visible,  at 
his  heels  a  band  of  ragged  itinerant  musicians, 
and  all  the  little  boys  and  girls  of  Dijon.  The 


THE  TOCSIN  395 


hero  of  the  hour  was  of  course  Fortune*,  now 
recruiting  on  his  own  account,  serving  the 
purpose  of  ambulatory  advertisement,  looking 
up  stragglers,  enticing  the  recalcitrant.  A 
proud  man  was  the  ex  -  smuggler,  as  he 
paraded  the  town,  waving  his  hat  to  the 
citizens,  shouting  the  watchword  but  a  few- 
days  old,  soon  to  be  rendered  so  glorious— 
'  Vive  la  Re"publique ! ' 


THE    END. 


MORRISON    ANC   GIBB,    PRINTERS,   EDINBURGH. 


THE 

CURB    OF    HONOUR 


V 


M.     BETHAM-EDWARDS, 

AUTHOR  OF   rA   ROMANCE  OF   DIJON,'   BTC- 


OPINIONS    OF    THE   PRESS. 

'  Miss  Betham-Edwards'  new  book  contains  some  excellent  descriptions 
of  Pyrenearv  scenery,  and  of  life  in  one  of  tfie  remote  moantain  valleys 
on  the  borderland  between  France  and  Spa\n.'—-A(Aenerum. 

'  The  author  has  been  most  skilful  in  his  delineations  of  the  characters 
of  the  leading  actors.' — Litertery  World. 

'  Miss  Betham-Edwards  may  be  congratulated  upon  telling  an  uncon- 
ventional story.' — Daily  Chronicle. 

'A  delightful  account  of  life  in  I'yrenean  valleys,  and  some  excellent 
studies  of  character.' — Observer. 

'  The  personages  are  few  and  strongly  drawn.' — Mtming  Post. 

'Told  with-  great  tact  and  restraint,  and  in  its  fitwil  chapters  it  has 
undeniable  pathos,'—  II 'oman. 

•Vivacious  and  original.'—  Bookman. 
'A  well-told  story.'— Glasgow  Herald. 

'The    concluding    chapter    is    a    piece    of    masterly    tragj- comedy. '- 
Academy. 

LONDON  :    ADAM   AND   CHARLES    BLACK. 


LIST  OF  THE  VARIOUS  AUTHOR'S  EDITIONS. 


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CHARLES  GREEN 
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.  fTHE  SURGEON'S  DAUGHTER. 
.  '-CASTLE  DANGEROUS. 


LONDON  :    ADAM   AND   CHARLES   BLACK. 


NEW    NOVELS. 

At  *11  On:  Ubwrxes, 


A  ROMANCE  OF  DIJON 

POSTTH  S.B5TAXTE 
JOHN 


PAULROMER        .       f 
MY  INDIAN  SUMMER 
THE  CURB  OP  HONOUR 
BOSX  3X  EXTLE 
THE   GREAT   CHIN 


THE 


ATANQLED 


WINDOW  . 
CAP   AND   GOWN 


.    " ;  :ri::: .  ? 


ByM, 

By  C  Y,  HARGREAVE>. 

By  AUBREY  LEE. 

By  SOPHIE  F.  F.  VEIICH, 

By  C.  Y.  H  ARG&EAVES. 

By  FfeExcEss  ALHERL 

By  M.  BETHAM-ED  WARD^ 

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By  FSUL .CcSHDfffi. 

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By  Ljuenr  LTSHDSAT, 

By  IjtDT  LISUSAY, 

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